Homecoming: The Voyager Coalition, Vol 1
by ForceForGood
Summary: With the help of new allies in the Delta Quadrant, the Voyager crew completes a dangerous journey in time to face off against the Borg in Federation space. But will their return change the hard-won unity of the crew? A novel replacing "Endgame." Fun action/adventure true to the spirit of Star Trek, with a dash of J/C. Now complete - check out Vol. 2!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Homecoming: The Voyager Coalition (Volume 1)

 **Description:** When the Voyager crew learns of an existential threat to the Federation, it leads them to make a bold new alliance and engage in battle with an old enemy. Meanwhile, the prospect of a promising new chance to return home means that for Janeway and her crew, soon everything could change.

 **Author's note:** This is a somewhat-A/U two-volume story that is a sequel to my short stories "Year of Hell, Season of Hope" and "Equinox: At the Gate of Daybreak." I have designed this story to be able to stand alone, however, if you don't wish to read them first.

This story replaces the plot of "Endgame," an episode which disappointed me for a number of reasons. I swore the day I watched it that I would rewrite the finale myself, and 16 years later, I've finally done it. I would also like to note that I have not read any of the post-homecoming Voyager novels, so my story will not match up with them (unless by sheer coincidence!) Rest assured this story will be completed, as I already have most of it written.

Includes the pairings Janeway/Chakotay and Paris/Torres, though this is not primarily a romance.

 **Rating:** K+ (mild language, moderate violence, no sex/nudity)

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the intellectual rights to Star Trek, and I don't receive payment for my fanfiction. I do it for the sheer joy of it!

 **Chapter 1**

Kathryn Janeway, captain of the U.S.S. Voyager, could not shake a sense of uneasiness.

With every step she took the rocks crunched under her boots with unnaturally sharp cracks, even with the sound muffled by the helmet of her environmental suit. The gravity on this planet was not quite right, and as a result she constantly felt as though she were slightly off-balance. And the heat was sweltering, even with the coolant in her suit running at full efficiency. Sweat trickled down into her eyes and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision, unable to wipe it away.

She paused a moment to survey the desolate landscape. A vast panorama of rock formations filled her view, under a sky with an eerie red light glowing around the edges of thick noxious clouds. All signs of sun, moon and stars were obscured, nor was there an animal or a scrap of vegetation in sight, but that was only to be expected from a class Y planet. They were crazy to come here in the first place, but desperate times called for desperate measures. They needed the deuterium.

Where was the rest of her Away Team? They had been here only a moment ago. Now Janeway could see she was utterly alone, though the area immediately around her was wide open and afforded no hiding places for the others.

She pressed a few buttons on the wrist of her suit. "Janeway to Away Team. What is your location?"

There was no sound but the whoosh-hiss of her own breath in her ears.

"Janeway to Voyager. I've been separated from the Away Team. Please respond."

No answer.

What could have happened? She checked the oxygen level of her suit. Still a few hours left. She wasn't in any immediate danger, but why weren't the coms working? Tuvok had assured her the equipment could withstand the heat levels on the surface.

Janeway turned slowly in a circle, rocks crunching underfoot, trying to guess which way the Away Team might have gone. Still no sign of them.

She decided the best course of action would be to return to the beam-out site. She turned to the east, and then gasped out loud and staggered awkwardly back several steps.

Someone was standing only a few feet away from her. Not anyone from the Away Team. He was hideous, inhuman, and not even wearing an environmental suit. His face was bloated and scarred, with ragged patches of hair here and there springing from his lumpy skull. The lengths of his limbs seemed uneven, leaving him hunched slightly to one side.

He was Vidiian.

Janeway stared at him in horror, her brain working to explain what a Vidiian could possibly be doing so far away from their territory, and how he could have survived more than a few seconds in the toxic air of a Y-class planet.

She pushed the control on her wrist to activate the emergency beacon in the suit. Not that it would do any good if the com lines were still down. Then she lifted her chin and faced down the Vidiian.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice ringing loudly inside the helmet. "What have you done with my people?"

The Vidiian returned her gaze, mouth agape, and then he shuffled forward a step.

"We needed their organs," he croaked. "I'm sorry, but it was necessary. Their bodies will provide for our colony for months." He paused, and took another step forward. "As will yours."

Janeway didn't waste any time pulling a phaser out of the suit's holster. "Get away from me!"

The Vidiian laughed, a hoarse hacking sound that seemed torn from his throat, and kept coming toward her.

She fired her phaser. Or, at least, she tried to. But all that happened was the weapon clicking in her hand. No energy beam. She frantically pressed various buttons, trying to get it operable, but the power was drained, every last drop of it.

Janeway turned to run. If she could just get back to the beam-out site, Voyager could whisk her away, assuming they still had a transporter lock there. And assuming the Vidiian ship that must be in orbit wasn't attacking them at this moment. It was awkward, running in the environmental suit, with the not-quite-right gravity of this planet threatening to knock her off balance at every moment. She risked a look back. The Vidiian was running clumsily after her, moving faster than she would have thought possible, considering one leg was longer than the other and he had to hitch his body from side to side in a weird rolling gait.

She ran on. Suddenly, Janeway's boot sank down into something soft, and she went down on one knee. Desperately she tried to scramble back to her feet, but her hands sank down into the soft stuff too, and now she was sinking deeper and deeper.

What was it? It couldn't be mud. There was no water on this demon planet. She struggled like a fly drowning in honey, but she couldn't get out. She noticed that the liquid she was stuck in, which spread out in a pool hundreds of meters across, was oddly metallic looking. Like liquid mercury. Like silver blood.

Like silver blood. Janeway's eyes widened. She had seen this before, on the other class-Y planet they had been forced to visit years ago: the pre-sentient lifeforms that had learned to imitate the bodies of her crew when it came in contact with them. But what were the odds of finding the same substance evolved here, thousands of lightyears away, eight years into their voyage back home? It hardly seemed possible. Despite her anxiety to escape the Vidiian, Janeway could feel the scientist inside her taking over, longing to get hold of a tricorder to scan the metallic liquid and see if it really was what she thought it was.

She didn't have to wait to find out, as it turned out. The silver blood was moving. Vague forms were rising up out of it. They were humanoid. They were exactly her height. They were beginning to change color, mostly black with a slash of red across their shoulders, their features growing more and more defined, until she was staring at dozens and dozens of Kathryn Janeways, all of them looking back at her with identical expressions on their faces. As one, they lifted their fingers and pointed behind her.

Turning with difficulty in the viscous fluid, Janeway saw the Vidiian standing behind her, staring with disbelief at all the Janeways. Then his slash of a mouth turned upward into a hideous grin.

"So many organs!" he chortled.

He pulled out a small device and pointed it at the duplicates, hitting them one by one with a short burst of green light, and as each Janeway was hit she froze motionless where she stood.

Janeway pounded at her wrist control. "Janeway to Voyager! Emergency beamout! Janeway to anyone! Please respond!"

No answer. Why wasn't anything working today? The com, the phaser, the vanished Away Team. The unprotected Vidiian surviving the toxic atmosphere here with no apparent discomfort. The silver blood, most improbably found on a second planet. It made no sense, any of it. It was like a bad dream.

Suddenly a flood of excitement washed over her whole body, and it was only with great difficulty that Janeway suppressed it.

How many times had she made it to this point, only to wake herself with the excitement she felt when she realized she was dreaming? Not this time. With all the effort she could muster she forced herself to concentrate on the images she was seeing, holding them in her mind, willing herself to believe that they were real. Just as Chakotay had taught her.

This time, it worked. She was still here in her dream, still watching the Vidiian freeze her duplicates with a happy grin on his malformed face. But now her fear was gone. Now she knew she was in control of everything that happened. Now she was lucid.

The alien turned his device on to Janeway and pressed the button.

Nothing happened. Squinting his eyes at the device, the Vidiian pushed more buttons, to no effect. He looked up at Janeway, and for the first time he looked a little worried.

Janeway smiled. "Not so scary now, are you?"

That gave her an idea. She concentrated, and in response to her thoughts the Vidiian began to transform in front of her. He grew rigid, and a pole sprouted from his back and extended into the ground, lifting him up several feet so that his feet dangled in the air. Yellow straw emerged from his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants. His eyes turned into black buttons, and now the wide grin was painted on a burlap face. For a final effect she added a floppy wide-brimmed hat stuffed with straw.

There. A scarecrow, much like the one her childhood neighbor back in Indiana had built to stand guard over his fields. Janeway smiled at the juxtaposition of the cheery stuffed man guarding the desolation of the demon planet, with a blood-red sky behind him. Chakotay was right. This _was_ great fun.

She turned back to see her duplicates still standing knee-deep in silver blood, rooted to the ground by the power of the Vidiian's device. Speaking of Indiana, she knew just what to do with them. She thought back, drawing from memory as best as she could, and the Janeways, too, began to transform. Their bodies grew taller and thinner and turned a shade of green, and their heavy heads darkened to chocolate brown, framed by strands of hair that rose up rippling and resolved themselves into yellow petals.

Now the barren landscape was almost entirely hidden behind a broad field of sunflowers, but they looked all wrong in the red light. Not like Indiana at all. Janeway closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, golden sunshine was pouring down through a baby-blue sky. Eagerly she took off her helmet and took a deep breath: fresh air, warm and humid, and scented with grass and soil. She could hear bees buzzing nearby, and now the ground beneath her feet was soft enough for her to leave footprints as she walked slowly forward until she was completely surrounded by sunflowers. The sunshine filtered through the stems and warmed her hair, and a glorious wave of familiarity washed over her.

She was home.

A wild, fierce joy took hold of her heart and threatened to spill over into ecstasy. Without hesitation she wriggled out of her environmental suit and left it lying on the ground so she could walk unimpeded through the rows of sunflowers. She spread her arms wide so that her hands brushed against the leaves as she walked. Every texture, every sensation, every scent, was exactly as she remembered. In the distance, a dog barked. She could almost imagine that at any moment she would hear her mother shouting at her from the backyard that dinner was ready.

She started to jog, leaves whipping at her body, and sun and shade flashed in her eyes alternately as she went faster and faster, and she couldn't help but laugh with sheer exhilaration. She ran and ran, and the sunflower field seemed to go on for miles, yet she never got tired or lost her breath.

Finally, up ahead she saw blue sky through the swaying stems. She slowed to a walk just as she emerged from the field.

She was standing near the edge of a cliff. An enormous crack in the earth opened up before her feet, with the far-distant blue glimmer of a river just visible at the bottom. Trees clung tenaciously to the steep sides. The canyon was impossibly wide and deep, reminescent of the Grand Canyon, and one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The sun was turning a rosy red as it began to dip down to the horizon on the other side.

Something was parked near the edge. A hang-glider? It had a primitive look to it, and as she got closer she suddenly recognized it. It was Leonardo da Vinci's flying machine, the one she had flown with the holographic maestro on a now-distant alien planet. The crew had dismantled it and stored it in Cargo Bay 1 long ago, and yet here it sat, just waiting for her. As if on cue a strong breeze sprang up and pressed against her back. How perfect.

She got behind the machine, gripped the handle firmly, and waited for a gust. When it came, she took a hard running start and pushed the machine off the edge of the cliff, jumping up onto a strut just in time. The white fabric of the wings rippled and snapped in the wind, and after a single deep dip downward that made her stomach lurch in an alarming fashion, the flying machine leveled out and she was sailing through the air, hair whipping wildly across her face. It was glorious.

She hung suspended in the sky like a bird, enjoying the view of the river far below. Time seemed to slow and she felt as though she might have been flying for hours when suddenly a chime sounded loudly. Startled, her hands nearly slipped from the handle, but she hung on. That chime had sounded very familiar. Where had she heard it before?

It was the Starfleet door chime. Why had that intruded in her dream? It didn't belong here at all.

Dreaming. She was dreaming. This was a dream. The realization hit her like a thunderclap: the canyon wasn't real, the river wasn't real, and the flying machine she was currently hanging onto for dear life wasn't real.

Instantly she lost her control over the lucid dream. The flying machine lurched suddenly in the breeze and then began spiraling down to the ground. Janeway had only time to emit one aggravated shout before the dream disappeared and her eyes snapped open.

She was laying on her back on the couch in her living quarters, the akoonah still warm under her fingers where it rested on her belly. The light was dimmed, a depressing sight after all that golden sunshine, and out the window she could see the black of space, streaked with stars that slid past Voyager at warp speed.

Janeway sat up and looked over where Chakotay was sitting in her high-backed wing chair with eyes closed, head flopped to the side and a PADD laying on his lap. She hadn't made a sound, at least not that she recalled, but already he was stirring, rubbing at his eyes and looking around disoriented for a second until he saw her.

"Chakotay!" she said eagerly, swinging her bare feet over to rest on the floor. "I finally did it! I took control!"

"About time," he mumbled, sitting up straight and trying to look alert. "What did you do?"

"I went home. To Indiana."

He smiled slightly. "I might have known. What on earth are you going to do when we actually do make it home?"

Her smile faded a little. "What do you mean?"

"What will you have left to dream about?"

She scoffed, feeling slightly offended. "Quite a bit. I had dreams before we got stranded in the Delta Quadrant, you know."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I think I should be able to keep a few mysteries to myself for now, don't you?"

Chakotay looked more than a little intrigued by this, and she half-expected him to start trying to tease it out of her, but after a short silence, all he said was: "Did you try flying?"

"I did. I recreated da Vinci's flying machine and jumped off a cliff."

Chakotay chuckled. "You don't need a machine to fly in your dreams, Kathryn."

"But I wanted one. It was lovely. Until I dreamed my door chime went off and I lost control."

Chakotay frowned, his tattoo distorting as the creases in his forehead deepened. "I heard a chime in my dream, too."

At that moment, Janeway's door chime sounded. They stared at each other, baffled.

"What time is it?" Janeway asked, fumbling around the coffee tabletop in the dim light trying to find her replica of Captain Cray's pocketwatch, which she could hear ticking nearby. Chakotay found it first.

"02:00," he said, squinting at the small numbers.

Who on earth would be visiting her quarters at 02:00? After the Doctor's "birthday" celebration - with eight candles on the cake, to mark the years since his first activation - they had left Harry Kim in charge of the Bridge for the night shift. If something had happened, Lieutenant Kim would have paged her or activated a red alert. But all seemed peaceful and quiet.

Janeway stood up quickly, intending to answer the door, but then she looked down at her dressing gown, and then over at Chakotay, sitting there in his pajamas with his hair mussed and a five o'clock shadow on his chin, and felt her stomach drop.

"This is going to look bad," she said.

"Uh..." Chakotay said, getting up and looking around helplessly for an idea. There was only one way out of her quarters, and that was through the doorway where someone was currently standing out in the corridor.

"Here. This way." She quickly hustled him toward her bedroom.

"How is putting me in your bedroom going to look any better?" he objected, but he didn't resist when she gently pushed him through the door and thrust the akoonah into his hands.

"Don't move a muscle, don't make a sound, don't even breathe," she whispered.

"You have a sword in your bedroom?" Chakotay whispered, looking around curiously. "Why do you have a sword-"

"Not a sound!" she hissed, and closed the door on him. Quickly she straightened the crushed pillow on the couch and ran her fingers through her rumpled hair before going over to answer the door.

It was Seven of Nine. She was wearing her science uniform and her hair was obscenely neat in its little blond twist, despite the fact that this was the middle of the night for Seven, too. Then again, Seven had the advantage of "sleeping" standing up. She didn't even have to change into pajamas.

"Captain," she said, her hands folded neatly behind her back. "I am sorry to wake you. May I speak with you?"

Janeway found herself instantly afire with curiosity. Seven rarely came to her quarters at all, and the one time she had come in the middle of the night, it had been to plead for Janeway to change her mind about deleting the Doctor's memories of Ensign Jetal. This must be something important, to bring her out of her regeneration alcove in the wee hours of the morning.

"Yes, of course," she said, stepping aside to let Seven in. "Have a seat." She was careful to gesture at the couch, in case the chair still held lingering warmth from where Chakotay had just been sitting. "Would you like some coffee?"

Seven sat on the couch stiffly. "I do not know. I have never tried it."

Janeway stared at her. "You still haven't...? Well, this is the perfect time to start." She walked over to the replicator and got two cups of coffee. She had the feeling she was going to need the boost to get through whatever it was Seven was going to say.

She handed Seven her cup and sat down next to her. Seven smelled the coffee suspiciously and took a hesitant sip. She immediately grimaced.

"It is offensive," she said, and put it down on the coffee table.

"You might like it better if it had milk and sugar in it..." Janeway began, trying very hard not to look over at the bedroom door, nearly certain that Chakotay would be having a fit of mirth in there just now. As long as he could have it _quietly_...

"It smells bad and tastes worse," Seven said flatly. "I do not believe any alteration could change that."

Janeway gave it up as a lost cause and took a long pull from her own cup. "So," she said, "how was your date tonight? Ensign Bronowski, wasn't it?"

"I did not terminate the date early this time," Seven said.

"Well, that sounds... encouraging," Janeway said.

"However, I did not come here to discuss my date," Seven continued.

"Oh?"

Seven paused for a long moment, and then finally said, "While I was regenerating just now, I was contacted by Axum."

Janeway sat up straight. "Axum? But... when we destroyed Unimatrix Zero, I thought you wouldn't be able to reach each other anymore."

"That was my belief as well," Seven said. "He informed me that with the help of Korok, he was able to reach me through my interplexing beacon using my translink frequency." Her expression changed, and she looked softer, more vulnerable, almost hesitant. "He took a great risk to speak to me this way. The Queen is still looking for the drones from Unimatrix Zero. He could have been caught."

Janeway patted her knee sympathetically. "It must have been good to see him again."

"Yes," Seven said softly. Then she cleared her throat, and suddenly she was all business again. "But he did not call me for a frivolous purpose. He wished to give us a warning."

Janeway set her cup down and looked at Seven. "A warning?"

Seven nodded. "Axum is on a cube that was instructed by the Queen to expand its patrol route because several of the other cubes in his sector are being diverted to a transwarp hub."

"A transwarp hub?" Janeway repeated.

"Yes. A transportation hub with conduits that lead to various locations in the galaxy."

"I'm familiar with transwarp conduits, but if every cube is outfitted with a transwarp drive to open their own conduits whenever and wherever they need one, why would the Borg need to built a hub?"

"These are permanent transwarp conduits, which take years to construct. They permit vessels to move at exponentially greater speeds than their engines alone are capable of," Seven explained. "A journey that would normally take months even with a transwarp engine could be completed in mere hours. The Collective has six such hubs in the galaxy, which greatly aid in its ability to move large numbers of vessels quickly."

"And assimilate civilizations before they can mount a defense," Janeway said.

"Precisely. Axum informed me that more than a hundred cubes are being diverted from their sectors to Hub 5. Some of them will travel directly there, while others will travel to the nearest hub to them and then take a conduit to Hub 5. Even at transwarp speeds, it will take months for all the chosen cubes to gather there, but once they do ..."

"The Borg will have massed a fleet ready to strike any target they can reach with their transwarp conduits," Janeway finished grimly. "Where is Hub 5, Seven?"

"It is in sector 33, grid 2, 14 lightyears from our current location."

"We'll have to be sure to steer well clear of it," Janeway murmured. "More than a hundred cubes ..."

"There is more," Seven said. "The Collective maintains algorithms to determine which species potentially pose the greatest threat to their quest for perfection. This permits them to choose the most efficient targets and neutralize enemies before they grow too strong. Axum informed me they have recently calculated new results, and changed their priorities accordingly."

"Species 8472?" Janeway asked. Voyager had had several encounters with the strange aliens who lived in fluidic space, and learned that thanks to their dense DNA and advanced bioweaponry, the species had proved immune to the Borg's attempt to assimilate them. In retribution for the Borg attacks, Species 8472 had nearly wiped out the Borg in their own territory.

"They were already at the top of the list," Seven said. "But now someone other than the Borg has made contact with Species 8472. Us. We have learned how to open a portal to fluidic space. We have studied one of their bioships. We have samples of their DNA. We opened peaceful negotiations with the aliens training at the Starfleet headquarters simulation. The Borg have learned all this, and the Queen is ... concerned. She believes we may form an alliance with Species 8472, or else develop their offensive capabilities for ourselves. She cannot allow that to happen."

Janeway felt her heart sink down to her toes. "They're coming after Voyager?"

"Not just Voyager," Seven said. "The Federation."

"You mean ... that fleet they're amassing at Hub 5 ..." Janeway hesitated. "Seven, are you telling me those conduits lead to Federation territory?"

Seven nodded slowly. "One of them leads directly to Wolf 359."

A sick feeling blossomed down in Janeway's stomach. Only 7 lightyears from Earth. The Federation would not have time to muster more than a handful of ships, certainly nothing that could hope to counter more than a hundred cubes ...

"They intend to take the fleet to the Alpha Quadrant and destroy multiple Federation colonies simultaneously," Seven continued quietly. "Each colony they assimilate will then provide additional ships and drones to attack more colonies. The Collective's small-scale assaults - the Battle of Wolf 359 and the Battle of Sector 001, each using only a single cube - have taught them that the Federation is highly resistant. They will not risk another failure. This time, they intend total conquest. They will make Federation space a second Borg stronghold. They will do this even at the cost of leaving their Delta Quadrant territories underprotected for a time."

"But why?" Janeway demanded passionately. "The Federation knows nothing of Species 8472. Only we do, and we're still 30,000 lightyears away. We haven't even found a way to contact Starfleet. Everyone at home believes us to be dead; they're not even looking for us-"

"The Collective cannot take that risk," Seven said. "All it would take is a single stroke of luck for Voyager - the discovery of a communications relay, or a wormhole, or another successful journey using the slipstream drive - and the Federation would gain knowledge that could enable them to repel the Borg effectively."

"And even if they destroy Voyager first," Janeway murmured, "we know from the accuracy of Species 8472's Starfleet headquarters simulation that they must already have the means to travel from fluidic space to Earth. If the aliens choose to make contact with the Federation directly, an alliance could be formed even without our help."

"Precisely," Seven said. "The Queen's strategy of pre-emptive attack is a sound one." Her tone was brusque, almost admiring, but before Janeway could move to rebuke Seven for her tactlessness, her expression changed and she dropped her eyes. "... if unfortunate for the Federation," she added quietly.

She was being sincere, there was no doubt about it. Janeway knew Seven's feelings toward her own heritage were complicated, but she also knew they had evolved over the five years Seven had spent onboard Voyager. Seven had not overcome the worship of perfection inculcated by her years as a drone, and perhaps never would, but she was also far more accepting of human sensibilities than she had been. Once, years ago, Seven had told Janeway in anger and arrogance that Janeway had failed to remake Seven in her own image. And that was true. What Seven hadn't realized then was that Janeway had never intended to. She wanted Seven to abide by the same rules everyone else on the ship did, yes, and be a willing participant in Voyager's community, but she didn't want Seven to be her double any more than she wanted Harry Kim or B'Elanna Torres or Tom Paris to be her double. Their differences made them stronger.

Still, as strong as they were, Janeway felt herself blanch at the thought of more than a hundred Borg cubes invading the Federation. What could they do, a single ship, to prevent it? They did not have the firepower to destroy even one cube, and they were powerless to deliver a warning. Hadn't they spent the last eight years doing everything possible to get home? And in that time they had managed to cover only half the distance between themselves and Federation space.

Now it seemed that, barring a miracle, in a few months they would no longer have a home to return to.

When Seven had told everything she knew and left, Janeway stood in the middle of the floor, lost in thought. Behind her, she heard the door to her bedroom swish open, and Chakotay came to stand beside her. They looked at each other soberly. It was clear Chakotay had heard everything.

Janeway pushed away her despair. It would be nothing but a distraction to her. Meeting Chakotay's gaze, she lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes in determination.

"We'll find a way," she told him.

He put a warm hand on her shoulder, his dark eyes were steady and reassuring.

"Of course we will."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to **Kasharo, AnActualGorn, Trekdr, Ginford** and **bevfan** for your kind reviews! It's always good to know someone's reading. And to answer a question, yes, Voyager has had no contact with Starfleet; in my A/U, the message from Starfleet they receive in "Hope and Fear" is entirely falsified by Arturis, rather than an altered real message.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

First thing in the morning, Janeway gathered Voyager's senior staff in the briefing room, and Seven of Nine gave them the full report on everything Axum had told her as she regenerated.

When she was finished, a long silence filled the room. Finally, Lieutenant Harry Kim stirred.

"Well," he said, "I might as well be the one to say it: we just found ourselves a shortcut home. If we can enter the Wolf 359 portal, we'll be home in a day."

Tom Paris winced. "Yeah, great, and all we have to do is fight our way through countless Borg cubes to use it."

"And then they'll follow us through, and assimilate everything and everyone on the other side," B'Elanna Torres said. She put her hand on her rounded belly in an unconscious gesture of protection.

"Under ordinary circumstances, getting within sight of the transwarp hub would be too foolish to even contemplate," Chakotay said. "But in this case, there's a lot more at stake than our own mission to get home. The Federation has to be warned."

"There is just no way we can muscle our way through that many cubes," Paris objected. "We've been incredibly lucky to survive our previous encounters with the Borg. We'd be tempting fate to try something like this."

"The entire attack fleet has not yet arrived at the hub, and will not for several months," Seven pointed out. "If we choose to make the attempt, we must move quickly. The longer we wait, the more cubes there will be to contend with."

"Perhaps we could enter the portal by stealth," Tuvok said.

"By stealth? How?" Neelix asked.

"We could construct what appears to be the shell of a Borg vessel around Voyager and disguise ourselves as one of them," Tuvok replied.

Neelix's yellow eyes lit up. "Ingenious! We would never have to fire a shot."

"We would still run a serious risk of discovery," Torres said. "We could lose everything. Captain, I think it would be better to stay far away from that hub, and concentrate our efforts on reconstructing the slipstream drive."

"It would take years to replicate the benamite-" Kim began.

"Well, maybe we can find someone in the area who can provide it to us-" Torres cut in.

"-and we still haven't solved the phase variance problem," Kim pressed on. "Chances are good we would destroy Voyager, like we already did in the other timeline!" Pain flashed in his eyes as he spoke. At least this time he had said "we" instead of "I," Janeway thought.

Torres, sensing she was treading on thin ice, checked herself before throwing back a retort, and Chakotay took the opportunity to jump in.

"We've been going over and over the issue of the slipstream drive for years," he said. "It's just too risky."

"All of you are thinking too small," Janeway said.

Everyone fell silent and looked at her.

"Warning Starfleet would be better than nothing," Janeway said. "But that doesn't address the issue of what exactly Starfleet is supposed to _do_ about it when the Borg fleet arrives. We may be able to provide information about Species 8472's offensive capabilities, but it will take time to develop them, and even with them, the battle will be bloody. At Wolf 359, a single cube took out 40 of our ships. Remember, we know nothing about the current strength of the Federation's fleet. If the Cardassian War is still on, they may be dealing with a significant reduction in resources."

She leaned forward and put her hands on the table. "Maybe instead of thinking up ways to prepare to fight the fleet, we should be concentrating on how to prevent it from reaching the Federation in the first place."

"How?" Kim said.

"Simple. We destroy the hub."

Everyone chewed on that idea for a moment.

Tuvok was the first to speak up. "Destroying the hub would be even more difficult than attempting to use it for ourselves."

Janeway nodded. "If we tried to do it alone, yes."

"But who would help us?" the Doctor asked. "We don't know anything about the species who live in the vicinity of Hub 5. Why would they care about our predicament?"

Torres shrugged. "Whoever they are, it's a good bet they don't appreciate having Borg cubes constantly on their doorstep. They would probably be thrilled to see the hub destroyed."

"Yes, but if they had the means to destroy it, they already would have," Chakotay said. "All we can offer them is one additional ship to help. That isn't much."

Paris shifted his weight in his chair. "Or, we could do exactly the thing the Borg don't want us to do. We could open a portal into fluidic space and talk to Species 8472. Maybe they would be willing to help. No matter how they feel about the Federation, I bet they wouldn't want to see the Borg gain trillions of new drones and a huge chunk of territory."

"Yes, by all means, let's shove a stick into a hornet's nest," the Doctor said with an expressive roll of his eyes. "Let's expose ourselves to the aliens who want to purge our galaxy of all life, and who nearly dissolved Lieutenant Kim from the inside out. Excellent idea, Lieutenant Paris."

"Boothby wasn't so bad-" Paris started.

"One individual!" the Doctor said. "We have no way of knowing if he has been able to influence any of his people. For all we know, they're preparing for our genocide right now!"

"I don't think we should have anything to do with Species 8472, Captain," Neelix put in, looking uneasy. "Kes sensed a hatred in them stronger than anything she had ever experienced before. If we invite them into this part of space to kill drones, there's no telling what they would do when it was over. They might just keep killing anyone and everyone."

"We cannot control Species 8472," Seven agreed. "However, we may be able to use their technology. We have studied their bioships; their energy beams can destroy a cube in a single shot. We should attempt to develop that weapon for ourselves."

"To create a weapon of that magnitude would be a massive undertaking," Tuvok said.

Kim nodded in agreement. "Raw materials, personnel for research, a shipyard for installation, a testing site... All the things we used to take for granted, when we were in the Alpha Quadrant."

"Which brings us back to Hub 5's neighbors," Janeway said. "Presumably they would have such facilities."

Tuvok lifted an eyebrow. "Giving someone else the knowledge to build the weapons of Species 8472 would, of course, be a violation of the Prime Directive."

"I hadn't forgotten, Tuvok," Janeway said.

The debate raged back and forth for a long time. In the end, the one thing they agreed on was that one way or another, they had to act.

"Set course for sector 33, grid 2," Janeway ordered. "We'll have to forgo our visit to the Quarren system. Let's see what there is to see, get to know the people who live near the hub, and perhaps a solution will present itself."

* * *

Two weeks later, Voyager entered the sector Seven had identified as the location of the transwarp hub.

Their multi-spatial probe had confirmed the presence of Borg cubes in the area. Janeway ordered a course correction to give the Borg routes a wide berth; for Voyager to be detected now would be disastrous. Instead, they headed directly for the densely populated systems nearby.

They didn't have long to wait. Within hours of entering Grid 2, they detected an alien ship on an intercept course.

"Drop us out of warp, Tom," Janeway said.

After a few minutes of waiting, the alien ship dropped out of warp as well and took position alongside them. Scans revealed it was about the same size as Voyager, with similar weaponry and energy output, although its design was shorter and stouter.

"They've raised shields, but weapons are not powered up," Tuvok reported.

"They're hailing us," Kim said from Ops.

"Onscreen."

The alien who appeared on the viewscreen was of a species unfamiliar to them. He was tall and willowy, with skin as dark as walnut wood. Long, wispy dark hair hung down past his shoulders, and above his beak-like nose were dark slanting eyes.

"This is Commander Ip of the scout ship Maypul," he said. "You are in the territory of the Coalition. Please identify yourselves."

"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager."

The man frowned. "We have not seen a vessel like yours before, nor have we heard of any Federation."

"We're a very long way from home," Janeway explained.

Ip looked intrigued. "Explorers?"

"Yes."

"I see. If you intend to travel through our space, I must warn to stay away from Grid 8. That area is sometimes used as a route by an entity known as the Borg Collective. Have you heard of them?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Janeway said heavily.

Commander Ip nodded somberly. "Then you already know to stay far away from their ships. Are you simply passing through, or do you intend to trade for goods while you are here? Visitors are welcome, so long as they are peaceful."

"We were hoping to get to know the people who live in this area," Janeway said. "Perhaps you could tell us more about your Coalition."

"Of course. Our territory encompasses 1200 cubic lightyears, and includes the homeworlds and colonies of three species, the Laxal, the Pollee and the Yantemi, who share resources and knowledge and band together to build ships such as this one, to explore and protect our territory. There are some other species in our area who choose to remain independent from the Coalition, but we have peaceful relations with them, and sometimes even cooperate in matters of planetary defense."

Ip paused a moment, and then continued more quietly, "Once our territory was even larger, but I am sorry to say that many years ago the Borg assimilated a number of our colonies and used their resources to build a transportation hub 12 lightyears from here. Now cubes constantly travel to and from this sector. They ignore us for the most part - they know we cannot mount an effective resistance - but they have been known to take unsuspecting ships that come too close to their routes, and they occasionally strike at our outermost colonies when they are in need of resources or drones."

"I am sorry to hear that," Janeway said gently. "The Federation, too, has suffered losses to the Borg."

Commander Ip dipped his head in acknowledgement. "There are few around here who have not." He cleared his throat. "If you tell me what you would like to buy and sell while you are here, I can offer you suggestions of where to go to get it. We have many beautiful and intriguing destinations. I'm sure you will enjoy your time here."

"Actually," Janeway said. "It's information we would like to exchange."

Ip's slanted eyes widened slightly. "What sort of information?"

"Perhaps you have noticed an increase in the number of Borg cubes traveling through your territory lately?"

"Yes, we have." Commander Ip leaned forward, looking suddenly curious. "What do you know about that?"

Janeway tilted her head. "Quite a bit, actually."

* * *

 _Captain's log, stardate 54311.3_

 _I've returned from visiting the Maypul at Commander Ip's invitation. Mr. Neelix quickly charmed Ip and his crew with his usual enthusiastic tales of some of Voyager's adventures in the Delta Quadrant, and before long we were able to persuade them to arrange a meeting with Coalition leaders._

 _The Maypul is escorting us to a six-planet system two lightyears from here, where we will meet with Paxap, Defense Czar for the Coalition._

At Commander Ip's direction, they docked Voyager inside a spaceport located near the fifth planet. It was a large spaceport, comparable in size to the Federation's Starbase 6, and contained a large permanent population, which Ip informed them not only worked to resupply and repair Coalition ships but also served as a base of operations for Coalition brass.

Janeway and the senior staff disembarked from Voyager, and Commander Ip led them through the reception area to a spacious observatory bubble that afforded a stunning view of the fifth planet close by, with its asteroid belt spreading out in an arc beyond it. A semi-circle of chairs had been set up in the center of the bubble, with a large viewscreen placed in front of them. About half the chairs were occupied by beings, who were sitting with their backs to the visitors.

A stocky alien was waiting for them, his blue-green skin shining in the light above his crisp white uniform. His head-crest swept forward and came to a point just above his eyes, giving him a rather fierce look, somewhat counteracted by a broad smile that showed all of his very white teeth as he bowed slightly to them upon their approach.

Commander Ip spoke up. "Captain, this is our Defense Czar, Paxap. Sir, this is Captain Janeway of Voyager, representing the United Federation of Planets."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain," Paxap said. His voice was deep and distinctive, and every syllable was enunciated precisely. He reached out confidently and shook hands with Janeway; clearly he had already been briefed on human customs by Commander Ip and his crew.

"Likewise," Janeway said. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I'm sure your time is very valuable."

"The Borg are my business," Paxap said, with a reassuring pat on her arm. "Your offer to share information with us was very kind. Would you and your crew like refreshment?"

"No, thank you," Janeway said. "We're ready to begin when you are."

Paxap's eyes slid past Janeway to rest on Seven of Nine, and she could see him silently focusing on Seven's cranial implant, his eyes flicking down to her facial node and then the silver assimilation tubule array on her left hand. Anticipating his reaction, Janeway hastily spoke up.

"This is Seven of Nine, a member of my crew. Please don't be alarmed by her appearance. We liberated her from the Collective five years ago. We haven't been able to remove all her implants, but she is no longer Borg."

Paxap looked steadily at Janeway for a moment, and then with a gesture invited them over to the seating area. As they approached, a number of aliens, dressed in Coalition uniforms like Paxap, rose and turned toward the Voyager crew, each of them bowing slightly at the waist in greeting.

"Captain Janeway, meet my staff," Paxap said in his deep voice.

There were more Laxals, like Paxap, and several willowy Yantemi, with dark skin and long wispy hair like Commander Ip, and members of the third Coalition species they hadn't seen yet: the Pollee, whose small, round heads came only to Janeway's shoulder, with pink skin and round blue eyes bright with intelligence.

About a third of them, like Seven, were sporting remnants of Borg implants on their bodies.

Paxap looked at their expressions of surprise and gave Janeway a small smile. "Did you think you were the only ones to liberate drones from the Collective, Captain?"

Taken aback, Janeway could only say, "In our experience, it is very rare to successfully rehabilitate a drone."

Seven stepped forward, looking at the former drones with fascination. "How many?" she asked Paxap. "How many have you liberated?"

"Several hundred," he replied.

"Several _hundred_?" the Doctor repeated, startled.

"How did you do it?" Neelix asked eagerly.

Paxap shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I'm... afraid we don't share technology with outsiders. We have very strict rules about that. I hope you understand."

"We do," Janeway assured him.

The Defense Czar moved on to making introductions all around, and then everyone settled into their seats for the presentation.

When the Voyager crew had finished explaining to the Coalition about Unimatrix Zero and the tactical information Axum had provided them, Paxap and his staff began peppering them with questions. They were alarmed to learn that eventually more than a hundred cubes would be assembled in their space.

"We've seen them assemble attack forces for mass transport before, but nothing like this," Paxap said. "Your Federation must be very powerful to have attracted the attention of the Borg. How large is your territory?"

"The Federation is spread across 8,000 cubic lightyears, with 183 member worlds and more than 7,000 colonies," Janeway said. "At least, that was the case eight years ago, when we were last there."

"Astounding," Paxap said, his blue-green eyes going wide. "That must amount to trillions of sentients. Our territory is only a fraction of yours, and we have always believed it would remain small, given our determination to only incorporate those worlds that are willing to join us."

"Your civilizations are younger than ours," Tuvok stated. "We, too, did not conquer any worlds to expand our territory. If you continue to provide peace and stability long-term, it is likely more species will choose to join you over time."

"That's assuming we survive our proximity to the Borg," Paxap said. "And what about you? How will the Federation fare against this fleet? I trust you have developed technology more advanced than what we have. Our own weapons have proved woefully inadequate against Borg vessels."

"Not exactly," Janeway said. Quickly she outlined the conundrum they faced given their inability to communicate with Starfleet, and the choice they faced to attempt to use the hub to travel home and deliver a warning, or to destroy it before the Borg fleet could depart for the Alpha Quadrant.

"Destroy the hub?" Paxap said, and all around the room the members of his staff grew visibly alert. "You could do that?"

Janeway was careful in her answer. "Not at present. We believe we may be able to develop something that could. The trouble is that the facilities we would need in order to do so are 30,000 lightyears away."

Paxap was quiet for a long moment. "Yes, I see," he said at last. "I take your meaning perfectly, Captain." He tapped a pointed fingernail on his knee thoughtfully, and then took a deep breath.

"Captain Janeway, please permit me to send you and your crew into the care of our Diplomatic Czar, Ganag." The Laxal woman rose and bowed respectfully. "She will be your host and see to your needs for a time," Paxap continued. "I must consult with my staff, and make a report to the Coalition Director."

"Of course."

* * *

They waited several days, as Ganag and her staff treated them with great deference, taking portions of the crew at a time to tour various portions of the spaceport and enjoy artistic and cultural events hosted by its residents. Neelix, as Voyager's resident ambassador, took the lead in exchanging information about the Coalition and the Federation and their long histories, and soon became fast friends with Ganag.

At one point, Paxap invited Janeway to his office for an update.

"I'll be plain with you, Captain," he said in his deep voice. "You have me convinced. I would risk a great deal for a chance to destroy that hub. We have been waiting with death on our doorstep for many years. Believe me, we are well aware that should the Borg choose to destroy us at any time for any reason, we would be powerless to stop them. But the Director is hesitant to commit to an offensive approach. He believes that since the Borg are not presently hostile to us, we would risk annihilation if an attempt to destroy the hub fails."

"I can understand why he would feel that way," Janeway said.

"I've been trying to make him understand that this view is short-sighted," Paxap said. "If we stand by and do nothing - simply wait for the fleet to leave and assimilate your trillions in the Federation - it will not bring us peace. One day, perhaps soon, I believe those countless numbers of new drones and ships would come right back through that conduit and flood our territory. If the Federation falls, it's only a matter of time before the Coalition will too."

"May that never be the case," Janeway said.

"If we knew something of the weapon you believe you can build," Paxap said cautiously, "if we knew exactly how powerful it was... perhaps a demonstration... it might help me to convince him."

Janeway took a deep breath and let it out. "You told me earlier that your people do not share technology. We also have a strict rule regarding this. If I gave you the specifications for this weapon, I would be breaking the Federation's Prime Directive and risking a general court martial upon my return home."

Paxap pulled back in surprise. "Then... you do not intend..."

"What my crew and I intend," Janeway said, her voice steely, "is to do what we must to save the Federation, regardless of the consequences to ourselves. The Prime Directive was developed to avoid disrupting the balance of power between species and thereby triggering wars. I understand that the Coalition does not have a history of initiating conflicts, but giving out information about this weapon is something we cannot do lightly. I need to have a commitment from the Director first, and certain assurances about what you will do with this technology once the hub is destroyed."

"I see," Paxap said. "Then you also are facing a difficult choice."

Janeway decided to take a risk. They had decided not to show the Coalition the video of the Species 8472 bioship Voyager had observed destroying a cube, at least not until they knew more about the organization and had ascertained whether they could be trusted to even know of the weapon's existence. But Neelix's reports were effusive with praise for the Coalition and their ways, and she sensed now that with a little encouragement, there was a real chance they could be just the allies Voyager needed.

Quickly she contacted Chakotay on the Bridge and had him send the video in question to the monitor in the Defense Czar's office.

Paxap watched the video several times over, then sat back and looked thoughtful. "What kind of ship is that?" he asked. "The design is dissimilar to your ship. It is not Federation?"

"No. They are the first species to offer a true resistance to the Borg. They invaded the Borg in their own stronghold, 35,000 lightyears from here, and inflicted significant damage. We were able to board one of their ships and take readings on their weapon. We believe we can recreate it, but we don't have the resources to do it alone."

"I had gathered as much," Paxap said. He tapped a sharpened fingernail against his desk thoughtfully. "I will bring this to the Director's attention. I believe he will be reassured that the weapon has been successfully tested, at least. And if I can offer you a reassurance, Captain, it is this: we are weary of war. We only wish to live our lives in peace. If the Coalition can eliminate the threat of the Borg, we will no longer need this weapon."

He held up a hand to forestall her next words. "I know. It is one thing to promise, and another to follow through. The temptation to misuse power is great. But Captain... if I convince the Director to help you build and deploy this weapon against the hub, can you seriously tell me that you would refuse the help? At some point, we will simply have to trust each other. After all, we too would be putting a weapon into your hands that you otherwise would not have."

* * *

Three days later, Paxap informed Janeway of the Director's decision. After a flurry of negotiations, they signed a formal agreement. Voyager would turn over information about the energy beam weapon on Species 8472's bioships. The crew would work with Coalition experts to develop the weapon and outfit Voyager and the Coalition fleet with it. And the Coalition would share information about the technique they had developed to liberate Borg drones, in the event Voyager was boarded during the battle.

The plan was straightforward enough: Voyager and the Coalition fleet would work together to fight their way through the cubes guarding Grid 8. If all went well, the Coalition fleet would then hold back long enough for Voyager to enter the Wolf 359 conduit before it struck its final blow against the hub itself.

Janeway gave the crew the opportunity to file an objection to her decision, but one by one they agreed that it was the best shot they had at success.

"Don't worry, Captain," Paris said jauntily. "We'll all be there at your court martial, holding hands and singing Kumbaya."

"Kumbaya?" Neelix said blankly.

"Prayer, Mr. Neelix," Tuvok said succinctly.

"Ah."

As exhilarating as it was to think they could shortly be on their way home, the Voyager crew kept their enthusiasm tamped down. They knew that much depended on how the battle would go.

"We're prepared for any eventuality, Captain," Torres said to Janeway privately after a briefing. "Going home has to be our secondary goal. I've been talking to my team, and if something goes wrong and we have to stay to make sure the hub is destroyed, everyone understands that it's the right thing to do."

It was such a contrast - coming from the woman who had angrily demanded to know, upon Janeway's decision to destroy the Caretaker array, what gave her the right to make such a decision - that Janeway couldn't help but ask gently, "And are you prepared for the possibility that you might be raising your child here on Voyager, and not back home?"

Torres nodded. "Tom and I already made that choice when we decided to try for a baby. We realized that we can't stop living our lives just because our future is uncertain. Whatever happens will happen. We'll just have to do the best we can."

Suddenly she grimaced, and pressed down on her belly with one hand.

"Are you all right?" Janeway asked, trying not to look alarmed. The Doctor thought B'Elanna's time was more than a month away, but with a half-human, half-Klingon giving birth to a three-quarters human, one-quarter Klingon baby, there was a certain amount of uncertainty about the matter.

"I'm fine, aside from my bruised and battered ribs. This baby kicks like a targ," Torres said with a pained smile. "Tom thinks that means she's going to take after me."

Janeway smiled. "We'll all be thrilled if she does."

After the formal speeches had been given and the agreement signed - and everyone else had left the meeting room to attend the reception that had been planned for the Voyager crew and Coalition officials - Janeway and Paxap sat alone in the suddenly-quiet room and looked at each other ruefully across the table.

"If all goes badly, they'll have my head on a platter," Paxap said with a fatalistic air. "At least I'll have the comfort of being put out of my misery as soon as the Borg make it to my homeworld."

"History will remember us as either saviors or scapegoats," Janeway said, with a twist of a smile. "But at least they'll say that we tried."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think of the story so far? I welcome feedback! Feel free to leave a review: good, bad or indifferent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Thank you **Kasharo, trekdr, skdrake, Ginford, Guest, RustyRaccoon, lynnki,** **fanficauther1226** and **Cred2929** for your reviews! To answer a question, yes, the Cardassian war Janeway and Chakotay were talking about is just a reference to the on-again-off-again conflict between the Federation and the Cardassian Empire that started in TNG. They know nothing about the Dominion War.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

After four weeks of hard work, Voyager's collaboration with the Coalition began to bear fruit. Janeway, Tuvok, Paris and Kim had spent that time at a testing range toiling with the rest of the Coalition team assigned to weapons development. Now they returned to the space station, where the rest of Voyager's senior staff had remained, to gather for a briefing.

Janeway had never left Voyager - and her crew - for so long during their time in the Delta Quadrant, and she found herself eager to see everyone again. She entered the observation bubble, this time set up with many rows of chairs, and scanned the room. There were Seven, Neelix and the Doctor, sitting on the third row by Ganag, the diplomatic czar, all of them absorbed in a lively conversation. Then Janeway spotted Chakotay and Torres on the front row and made her way over to them, flanked by Paris, Kim and Tuvok.

Torres struggled heavily to her feet and Paris wrapped his arms around her for a long wordless hug. Everyone else tried not to stare. In the last few years the two had become better at not engaging in public displays of affection while on duty, but apparently four weeks was a long time to go without seeing your pregnant wife.

Chakotay, too, stood when he saw Janeway coming and, without so much as a word of greeting, held out a steaming mug and said, "I have coffee."

Janeway couldn't help but smile. She had made the mistake of forgetting to bring any with her to the testing range, and she had complained to Chakotay about it more than once during their periodic transmissions.

"Thank you, Commander," she said, accepting the mug. "But I think Lieutenant Kim needs it more than I do. He was the one pulling all-nighters this time, not me." She ran a critical eye over Kim, noting once again the bloodshot eyes and weary slump, and passed the mug over. Kim accepted it gratefully.

"Rough time, Starfleet?" Torres asked with concern. Paris had one arm slung around her shoulders.

"You could say that," Kim said after downing a swallow of hot coffee.

"His team had the hardest job, as it turned out," Janeway said. "You'll hear about it in the briefing."

When everyone was seated and the noise had settled down, Defense Czar Paxap called the meeting to order and invited the munitions team to begin their presentation.

Tuvok and Ot, the Yantemi munitions expert, came to stand on either side of the screen, and Janeway was struck once more by how similar the two were, against all odds given the distances between their homeworlds: same height, same skin tone, and same color hair and eyes. For all she knew, the pair had the same pointy ears, but like all the Yantemi, Ot's ears were hidden under his long, wispy hair. Only their uniforms contrasted: Ot in crisp white trimmed with green braid, and Tuvok in Starfleet black and gold.

Ot even had a serious disposition like Tuvok; in their four weeks together Janeway could not remember ever seeing him smile. True to form, he began his presentation with the set face and sepulchral voice of a minister about to preside over a funeral, and bypassed an introduction of any kind, no doubt considering it superfluous.

"We have a prototype for the energy beam cannon," Ot said simply. "Observe."

Tuvok activated the screen, and an image of one of the Coalition's multipurpose vessels popped up. The alterations were immediately apparent. Just behind the apex of the ship, where the command center was located, loomed a stout superstructure made of titanium. It was composed of two overarching arms anchored on the fourth level that stretched up to a height of 30 meters and didn't quite meet in the middle.

"Each arm of the superstructure is equipped with an emitter made of crystalline dicosilium at the tip," Tuvok said. "The device draws on power reserves from the ship and transfers it through plasma conduits to the emitters, where it slowly builds up, held in place with a Krieger bubble."

He pressed a control, and they saw a pulsing amber light begin to flicker between the tips of the arms, at first barely discernible, and then gradually blossoming into a multi-colored undulating ball of energy that bathed the ship's ventral side in a brilliant light. "There are dampeners integrated into the arms to prevent energy feedback," Tuvok added. "This is critical to ensure hull integrity while the energy beam, or EB, cannon is in use."

"There is also a tricobalt reactor located beneath the EB cannon," Ot said, pointing out a large circular vent on the hull beneath the arms of the superstructure. "When energy between the emitters has reached peak levels, a surge of nucleogenic tricobalt particles is forced up and out of the vent. The particles make contact with the energy sphere, and force the energy into a coherent beam that can be directed toward a Borg cube."

What Ot didn't mention was that the reactor required an obscene amount of tricobalt, a substance not exactly easy to manufacture. Privately, Paxap had informed Janeway that the Director had balked at providing the amounts required, given that the fleet modifications were going to use up every tricobalt reserve the Coalition currently had, and it was only with great difficulty that Paxap had persuaded him it was necessary.

Ot advanced the vid, which showed a thin stream of blue tricobalt particles issuing from the vent in the ship's hull and colliding with the energy sphere suspended between the superstructure's arms. Immediately, a thick amber energy beam jagged up from the sphere like a bolt of lightning and struck a large asteroid floating above the ship.

The destruction was impressive. Not only did the asteroid shatter into pebbles, but a good portion of it actually dissolved into dust that glittered as it spread out in a fast-moving sphere. Now the Coalition ship floated silently in space, the energy sphere dissipated and its superstructure plunged back into the comparative dimness of starlight.

"Of course, the hull of a Borg sphere will be more difficult to crack," Tuvok said. "But unlike our photon torpedoes, the EB cannon will cut straight through shielding. It will give us a considerable advantage in battle."

"But not as much as we would like," Ot said. "As we all have seen, Species 8472's tiny bioship, only 25 meters long, destroyed a cube with a single shot. Unfortunately, we have been unable to match that level of force. I will now permit our operations team to explain the difficulty we encountered."

Tuvok and Ot retreated to one side while Harry Kim, looking more alert after his shot of caffeine, made his way to the front, followed by Tech Chief Lownd, looking like a child with her wide-set eyes and her round head coming only to Kim's shoulder.

"As some of you already know, the power differential is the one difficulty we've been unable to overcome," Kim said. "The bioships of Species 8472 had the distinct advantage, as a quasi-lifeform, of being able to generate a continual self-sustaining cycle of power. Our mechanical power grids just can't compare, no matter how many improvements we make. That means that the energy beams we develop will never pack the same punch as an 8472 bioship, not unless we figure out how to build our own bioships from scratch."

"Biotech is a field we have only dabbled in," Lownd put in, the light of the screen behind her round head lighting up her peach-fuzz hair like a halo. "We simply don't have the means to tackle a project of that magnitude in the time that we have."

Kim nodded. "So what we've been doing is studying the implications of the planet-killer that Species 8472 used against the Borg. They used multiple bioships to combine energy beams like the spokes of a wheel, amplifying their effect exponentially. What if we did the same? If we used eight ships to combine our weaker beams into a single coherent beam, theoretically we would have enough force to destroy a cube."

"Such a limitation has distinct disadvantages," Tuvok said. "I've been running tactical scenarios on how we could use such a technique. It will take approximately 20 seconds to warm up the emitters and combine beams. A Borg cube would need to eliminate only one of the eight ships in that time to stymie our attack."

"And unfortunately, in order to the produce the energy beam," Kim said, "those eight ships will have to devote almost every ounce of power to the weapon, sparing only enough to maintain life support and paper-thin shielding."

"The shields will be just strong enough to protect the hull from space debris and to block transporter beams," Lownd said, "but not enough to stop energy weapons. Our ships would be extremely vulnerable."

"So the question is, how do we protect those ships long enough for them to take their shot?" Paxap asked.

"Exactly," Kim said. "Tom?"

Paris stood up and faced the group with a grin. "Formation flying. It's how jet pilots back in the 21st century Earth would protect each other in a firefight. Starfleet hasn't traditionally done much of that, since starships in the Federation tend to travel and fight alone, spread out as we are across so much territory. As we all know, the Battle of Wolf 359 was disastrous in part because we used a line-of-attack technique, making it possible for the cube to pick off ships one by one as they approached in an orderly fashion to launch their torpedoes. It's a good way to avoid friendly fire, but it makes our movements predictable."

Kelek, a Laxal tactician, joined him at the front of the group and pressed a button. A tactical scenario popped up on the screen.

"Mr. Paris and I have been playing with possibilities in our simulators," Kelek said. "We've come up with a number of formations that will enable us to protect the eight firing ships. We'll show them all to you in a moment, but I'll note now what they all have in common: in each scenario, we have some ships remaining tight against the firing ships, protecting them with their own shields, and we have others at a greater distance, ready to fire conventional weapons to neutralize Borg torpedoes before they reach the center of the formation. We've also incorporated some techniques for swapping positions during the approach run: with unpredictable movements, the Borg will be unsure which ships they should be targeting."

They watched the tactical scenarios with rapt attention. When they were finished, Paxap nodded his head in approval.

"They look effective," he said, "but complicated. We should begin training our pilots now to become accustomed to these formations." He glanced over at Kelek. "I'll leave that in your capable hands."

He stood up decisively. "Excellent work, everyone. We're ready to move forward. I want fleet installation of the weapons to begin as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the more cubes we'll have to contend with."

* * *

Distant metallic clangs resounded throughout Voyager, and periodically the crew felt the shudder of a soft impact against the hull. On the Bridge, they had turned the viewscreen to the aft view, where they could see small, maneuverable EV pods nudging titanium beams into position to be welded onto Voyager's hull just behind the Bridge. Already the tricobalt reactor was in place, and early tests had resulted in a successful particle stream.

From their position in the shipyard, anyone looking out one of Voyager's forward windows had an eagle's-eye view of dozens of Coalition ships encased in their own docking clamps, their EB cannon superstructures in various stages of construction.

While Janeway, Tuvok, Kim and Paris had been busy at the weapons testing site, the rest of the senior staff had been elbows-deep in their own projects here on Voyager, and Janeway was eager to get an update on their progress.

"Let's start with the drone liberation team," Chakotay said when everyone was settled into their seats in the Briefing Room. "Ambassador Ganag arranged for the Coalition's top medical expert to come instruct the Doctor and Seven of Nine in the technique they've developed for liberating drones. Unfortunately, he was a little..." Chakotay paused a moment, searching for the right word.

"He was inefficient, disorganized and frequently incoherent," Seven said flatly.

"Nonsense," Neelix said staunchly. "He's a little eccentric, that's all."

"It can't be denied that he is also a genius," the Doctor added.

"Mr. Neelix did an excellent job of smoothing relations between Dr. Rilir and our crew," Chakotay said with a nod to the Talaxian in question, by which Janeway took to mean Neelix had somehow managed to keep Seven of Nine from throttling the "eccentric" doctor during the course of their partnership. "Doc, why don't you show everyone what you learned?"

The Doctor rose and came to the front of the room.

"As you all know, Borg drones assimilate others by injecting them with nanoprobes which hijack the body's resources and then begin generating implants," the Doctor said. "Seven, if you would care to demonstrate?" He gestured to a biocylinder sitting on the conference table.

Seven rose and nonchalantly held out her left fist, and two assimilation tubules shot out from her knuckles and penetrated the biocylinder. On the screen behind her, they could see the microcellular view of the cylinder's contents. Tiny black nanoprobes were latching onto the cells within, sucking up their energy and rapidly reproducing into more and more nanoprobes. Soon they began to form chains and then interlacing structures. These formed the basis of proto-implants, which Janeway knew would eventually build themselves up into permanent cybernetic devices such as transceivers, body shield generators, cortical arrays, sensory nodes, and more.

The cylinder itself could now be seen to change color, from clear to gray, as Seven's nanoprobes multiplied.

"What Dr. Rilir has done," the Doctor said, "is create a nanite of his own, based on Borg nanoprobes, but with a difference. The Coalition nanites latch onto nanoprobes and forcibly convert them into benign nanites. These in turn work to dismantle certain implants in the Borg's body, beginning with the neural transceiver which, as we all know, is how the Collective suppresses individuality and imposes its will on each drone."

"Who assimilates the assimilators?" Paris murmured.

"Precisely, Mr. Paris. Once that's done, the drone is liberated and, with proper medical care, may survive the process of his or her original physiology reasserting itself," the Doctor said. "As Seven of Nine's did. But the Coalition's nanite is considerably more efficient than the techniques I invented on the fly for Seven."

"However," Seven said, "their delivery system is unwieldy." She held up a projectile weapon, larger than a hand phaser but smaller than a compression rifle. "The Coalition has been manufacturing the nanites in laboratories - a time-consuming process - and then loading these dart guns with vials of them. Each gun is loaded with enough nanites to liberate only four drones. And in order to inject a drone, soldiers must come within close range, risking their own assimilation."

"Let me guess," Janeway said. "You two have found a better way."

"Of course," the Doctor said with a smug smile. "We thought, why not do as the Borg do? They generate a continual supply of nanoprobes using their own bodies as a manufacturing facility. What if we turned our own crewmembers' bodies into nanite carriers?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "You intend to assimilate us?"

"With benign nanites," the Doctor blithely assured him. "Instead of generating implants, these microscopic machines will simply latch onto white blood cells, multiply to whatever number we program into them, and then lie dormant in the bloodstream of the carrier. If the carrier is ever injected with Borg nanoprobes, the nanites will activate, attack the nanoprobe, and convert it into a benign nanite."

"So it will make us assimilation-proof?" Kim said.

"No," Seven said, putting the dart gun down on the table. "It will make the carriers assimilation- _resistant_. Once they've encountered this defense, the Borg will undoubtedly adapt. The Coalition has already had to reprogram their nanites several times to compensate. It is also possible to overwhelm the nanites with sheer numbers of Borg nanoprobes. A carrier could resist several assimilation attempts in quick succession, perhaps three or four, but not more."

"Then this is a defensive technique only," Janeway said.

"Not at all," Seven said. "The carriers will also be able to inject their own benign nanites into a Borg drone, triggering the same conversion process."

"But you said the nanites wouldn't generate implants in us," Janeway said. "Doesn't that include assimilation tubules?"

"I anticipated there would be resistance to that idea," the Doctor said, smiling at his own pun. "So I came up with a less invasive alternative to deliver the individual-specific immuno-dependent nanoprobe-converters. Commander, if you would care to demonstrate?"

Chakotay stood up and came around to the front of the briefing room, but before he could start, Paris broke in.

"I'm sorry, Doc, _what_ did you just call these things?" he asked.

"Individual-specific immuno-dependent nanoprobe-converters," the Doctor repeated.

"Ugh, that's terrible!" Paris retorted, glancing around the room to see if anyone else agreed. "It doesn't roll off the tongue at all. We've got to do better."

"The name is perfectly accurate, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said, looking annoyed. "They are nanites that convert Borg nanoprobes using the immune system of a carrier, and the formula we use will be different depending on the DNA of each individual carrier-"

"Yeah, but I can't say in the middle of a battle, 'go fetch me some individual-specific immuno-dependent nanoprobe-converters,'" Paris complained. "It needs to be shorter. Snappier."

"I'm a doctor, not a wordsmith!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Maybe we could change it to an acronym," Kim put in. "Let's see, that would be... ISIDNC." He made a face. "Nope, not any better."

"We could just shorten it to 'anti-nanoprobes,'" Torres said.

"But they don't destroy nanoprobes, they _convert_ them," the Doctor objected.

"'Nanoprobe-converters' doesn't really have a ring to it," Neelix joined in.

"How about liberation nanites?" Paris mused to himself. "Liberty nanites?"

"Freedom nanites!" Kim said, snapping his fingers.

"Freedom robots!" Tom shot back.

"The name I came up with is suitably accurate," the Doctor said with a scowl. "Can we please move on-"

"Freebots!" Paris shouted, smacking the table with the flat of his hand.

"Yes! Freebots!" Kim said, pointing his finger at Paris triumphantly. Torres laughed at them both.

"Mr. Paris, these are nanites, not robots," the Doctor exclaimed, "and this is real life, not one of your Captain Proton adventures! Captain Janeway, please-"

"Commander Chakotay," Janeway said patiently, "if you would please demonstrate how the individual-specific, immuno- uh..."

"Dependent," the Doctor prompted.

"Right. Dependent, uh, nanite-converters. Tell us how they'll be disseminated."

Chakotay suppressed a grin. "Aye captain." He held up a black fingerless glove with silver circuitry built into the wrist. "Once the Doctor has injected a carrier with the initial batch of benign nanites, like he has with me-"

"You've already been converted?" Janeway blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Yes, my blood is now swimming with nanites," Chakotay said casually. "Apparently I make an excellent guinea pig."

"Test subject," the Doctor quickly corrected him.

"That's what I said. Anyway, all the carrier has to do is put on this glove-" - he pulled it onto his left hand and tightened the strap - "-which has two assimilation tubules built into it, extending from the wrist around to the knuckles. When you press this control, the tubules will embed themselves into the veins of your wrist."

"Don't worry," the Doctor cut in. "I've incorporated an analgesic into the design, so pain should be minimal."

Chakotay pressed the button, and they could see him wince only slightly as a faint snick could be heard.

"Now the glove can draw nanites from your bloodstream." Chakotay held up his gloved hand. They could see a button located in the center of the palm. "To inject a drone, simply press the button."

Chakotay made a fist so that the tips of his fingers pressed the button, and suddenly two assimilation tubules snaked out from the knuckles of the glove and waved about in the air. Neelix, sitting closest to him, reared back involuntarily and nearly tipped over his chair. Tuvok put out a steadying hand.

Chakotay lowered his hand to the nanoprobe-infected biocylinder, and the glove's tubules snaked down and punctured it.

On the screen behind him, gray nanites could be seen flooding the field of black nanoprobes. One by one, the gray latched onto the black, and began to break up the chains and interlocking structures that formed proto-implants. Soon, there were more gray machines than black, and gaining all the time.

Chakotay arched his eyebrows at everyone and grinned. "Resistance is futile."

Within thirty seconds, the dark fluid in the cylinder had lightened noticeably.

"Impressive," Tuvok said, and the Doctor smiled smugly.

"It's important to note that as nanites are expelled through the glove," Seven said, "the nanites remaining in the bloodstream will multiply to replenish the supply."

"As you might imagine, the longer you use the glove, the more it will sap your strength," the Doctor said. "Nutrients and hydration will be used up rapidly. I suggest the carriers keep with them a supply of food and water to keep energy up, in case they're caught in an extended battle."

"How long will it take to convert the crew?" Janeway asked.

"I have to tailor the nanites for each individual carrier's DNA," the Doctor said. "I'm afraid I won't have time to convert everyone on the crew, if we stick to the timetable Paxap has set. I estimate I have time to convert 40 to 50 crewmembers."

Janeway nodded, and looked over at Chakotay. "In that case, Commander, begin with Tuvok and all the tactical officers. If there's time, continue with whichever crewmembers are best suited for hand-to-hand combat."

"Along those lines, Captain, I'd like to work with Tuvok to organize squads and start training them in the holodeck," Chakotay said.

"Considering the likelihood that we may end up battling our own assimilated crewmembers," Tuvok said, "it would be well to consider non-lethal methods of combat. I believe we have a moral obligation to do so, now that we have a way to reclaim them."

Chakotay nodded. "I've been thinking the same thing. Phasers have never been that effective anyway, since the drones adapt so quickly that you can only get a few shots off. The primary advantage of phasers was that you could fire from a safe distance, but with our new resistance to assimilation, that won't be as much of an issue."

"What did you have in mind, Tuvok?" Janeway asked.

"Blunt weapons would be ideal," Tuvok said. "We merely need to subdue the drones long enough to inject them with nanites."

"I'd still like the squads to carry phasers, just in case," Janeway said.

"Naturally," Tuvok said.

"All right. B'Elanna, how are the engines coming?" Janeway asked.

"Modifications to the dilithium chamber and the plasma injectors are complete," Torres said. "We're in the process of designing four different failsafes to keep us going at maximum warp without pause for 12 hours, even if we have to purge the chamber mid-journey. We're going to burn through dilithium crystals like there's no tomorrow, but according to my calculations we should be able to stay in the conduit ahead of its collapse, all the way to Wolf 359."

"Good," Janeway said. "I'd like to have Seven look over your modifications as well, now that she's finished helping the Doctor. See to it."

Torres nodded in assent. If she was annoyed, she didn't show it. Janeway knew how much she hated having Seven interfere in Engineering, but as the only person here who had actually used a transwarp conduit, it made sense for her to be the second pair of eyes.

"If there's nothing else?" Janeway said, and no one spoke up. "Good work, everyone. Let's do it."

As everyone filed out of the room, Kim leaned close to Paris and whispered, "I can't wait to see the individual-specific immuno-dependent nanoprobe-converters in action."

"You mean freebots?" Paris murmured very very quietly, so that the Doctor didn't hear, and he and Kim choked back laughter.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think of the Voyager crew's plan? Let me know in the comments!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** A big Star Trek thank-you for reviews from **trekdr, bevfan, fanficauther1226, Rusty Raccoon** and **Doc Yewll** (by the way, your profile pic makes me laugh!). One thing I knew I wanted to change from "Endgame" was to have the crew use teamwork - with every member of the crew contributing something - and their scientific savvy and Federation ideals toward their efforts to get home. No "magic tech from the future," which felt almost like cheating to me. I hope I have succeeded.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

The Coalition fleet, with Voyager in its midst, sprinted along subspace at high warp, only 12 hours away from Hub 5. All the preparations had been made: the EB cannon tested and ready, formations practiced and re-practiced, and squads of nanite carriers trained to protect the crew from Borg boarding parties.

They were as ready as they could be. At 17:00, Alpha Shift left the Bridge in an orderly fashion, and Beta Shift took over their stations quietly and efficiently.

Janeway took a walking tour of the ship, visiting each deck one by one and stopping to exchange a few words of encouragement with each person she passed. She noted that the crew seemed calm, even subdued. No one spoke of it as their last night in the Delta Quadrant. They had been disappointed too many times.

No one spoke, either, of what they would be facing in the morning: a battle with the Borg, probably their riskiest yet, and one of such a nature that it could not end in an escape. Either they would succeed in penetrating the hub's defenses and shortly be on the fast track home, or they would be dead or drones by nightfall.

What they did speak of was memories. Memories of their time in the Delta Quadrant, of the wonders they had seen, and the terrors they had survived. Memories of the worlds they had visited and the friends they had made and the discoveries they had recorded. Janeway took the time to thank each person she saw for a contribution they had personally made during the course of their eight-year journey. She was surprised and touched when many of them reciprocated with gratitude to her for her leadership over the years.

When she had walked through the whole ship, she asked the computer for Chakotay's location, and then set off for his office. At her chime, the door slid open and he invited her in.

He was sitting behind his curved desk, a stack of PADDS at his elbow, one of which he was consulting as he tapped information into his computer.

"Have a seat," he said, glancing up at her. "Be right with you."

Feeling restless, Janeway opted instead to slowly walk around the room, taking in the familiar view of the stars streaming past his window, the woven hangings, the potted plants on either side of the long gray couch. She checked the soil in the pots and found they were dry, so she picked up the watering can and watered the plants. She glanced at Chakotay. Still tapping away. Wandering over to the other side of the room, she studied the tribal shield hanging on the bulkhead and realized it was slightly askew, so she straightened it.

"That thing hits the deck every time we have a battle," Chakotay said without looking up from his screen. "Every time it happens I tell myself I need to get someone up here to reinforce the bolts after things settle back down, but I never remember to."

"Maybe that's because things never 'settle back down' around here," Janeway said with a smile.

"It does seem that way," he agreed, glancing up to smile back.

Janeway sat on the couch and stretched out her feet comfortably in front of her.

"Tom's turned on the Sandrine's simulation on Holodeck 1 for old times' sake," she said. "I've juggled the schedule so that everyone can spend an hour there tonight. Neelix thought a little down time should help keep the pre-battle jitters at bay."

"Good thinking," Chakotay said, but he sounded a bit distracted.

"Care to walk down with me?"

"Not yet. I've got to finish this first. I fell behind on crew evaluations."

"You're doing reports at a time like this?" Janeway teased him.

"I thought it might look bad if the first thing Starfleet learns about me upon our return is that I left a bunch of PADD work unfinished," Chakotay said wryly. "I'm sure my criminal record will pale in comparison."

"Let me give you a hand," she said.

"No, no need," Chakotay said. "It isn't difficult work, just tedious."

"I remember. I used to be a First Officer, you know."

"No kidding," Chakotay said. "I used to be a captain, you know."

She laughed, as she knew he had meant her to. "And how many crew evaluations did you oversee in your time with the Maquis?"

"Zero," Chakotay said cheerfully. "It was great. Freed up all kinds of time. On the other hand, I had to do a lot of stomping and shouting every time someone fouled up. Don't tell anyone I said this, but the Starfleet way might actually be better."

"It'll be our little secret."

Chakotay worked in silence for a few more minutes while Janeway gazed thoughtfully out the window. Finally he put his PADDS aside, signed off his monitor and stood up.

"You look a million lightyears away," he said, coming to settle down next to her on the couch. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I was only 30,000 lightyears away," she corrected him. "And I was composing a communique in my head, just in case all goes well tomorrow. It went something like this: Dear Starfleet Command, eight years ago I left the Alpha Quadrant with 141 crewmembers and, despite holding 36 funerals since then, I've returned today with 165, thanks to picking up two other starship crews. A quarter of them are either wanted for treaty violations or overdue for a court martial regarding the breaking of the Prime Directive. By the way, I've just broken the Prime Directive as well. We beg you for mercy. Sincerely, Captain Janeway."

Chakotay chuckled dryly. "Not the homecoming you imagined, is it?"

"Not exactly."

"They're not going to blame you for what the Equinox crew did under Ransom's command, Kathryn," he said. "And they can't blame you for what my crew did in the Alpha Quadrant, either."

"I'm not worried about _blame_ ," she said. "Everyone on this ship is my responsibility now, and many of them are my friends, and I'm not looking forward to seeing their dirty laundry aired for all the Federation to see, not after all that they've done to redeem themselves since then."

She looked over at Chakotay. "How are they handling it? Your old crew, I mean. Are they worried?"

"Terrified," he said bluntly.

"Of being sent to a penal colony?"

"For starters. You should see the way they look when they pass Tuvok in the corridors. They know he'll be called to testify against us."

"That was why I sent him to you undercover," Janeway said. "A credible witness to gather evidence, so we could get convictions instead of mistrials for a change. Very clever of me, wasn't it?" She couldn't keep a hint of bitterness out of her voice.

"How were you to know you would go and get all attached to us?" Chakotay said, trying to smile.

"Tuvok won't be out for your blood," Janeway said.

"Yes, but he isn't going to sugarcoat anything, either," Chakotay said. "Not to speak of any other witnesses they might call. We did what we did, and we're going to have to face up to it." He rubbed his forehead. "But a lot of them are worried less about the trials, and more about their families and compatriots, the ones who were left to their own devices in the Demilitarized Zone."

Eight years. Eight years they had been in the Delta Quadrant. Surely, Janeway thought, as she had thought a hundred times before, surely the war was over by now. Surely the Federation had been victorious over the Cardassians. Yet a little niggling doubt in the back of her mind reminded her that they just... didn't... know. Anything could happen in war, and usually did.

"Maybe the treaty was abandoned," she said, "and the colonies put back in Federation hands. If the Federation gave up on negotiations and put its full might into the war effort, the conflict might have ended quickly."

"That's the optimistic view of things," Chakotay said. He didn't say what they were both thinking: that it was equally likely the Federation had continued to sit on its hands hoping for a peaceful solution while the colonists - and the Maquis attempting to protect them - were scattered or slaughtered by Cardassians.

"We've had a respite here on Voyager," he continued quietly. "Plenty of distractions to keep us from thinking about what might be happening back home while we were powerless to do anything about it. Well, we're thinking about it now."

"Chakotay," Janeway said, putting her hand on his knee, "whatever has happened, you know I'm going to do everything in my power to help you, and all the Maquis, and the Equinox people as well."

"I think everyone knows that, Kathryn," he said. "But how much can you help, really? Out here, you've had total control over our fate. The moment we're home it will be out of your hands."

"Not entirely," she said. "I can use my influence-"

"I'm sure that would help, but now you'll be facing a court-martial yourself, and-"

"I hadn't forgotten," she said, going steely.

"They'll be crazy if it ends with any result other than awarding you a medal," he said patiently. "What I'm saying is, don't spend all your political capital on us. Save some for yourself."

"I don't know how to do things halfway," Janeway said.

Chakotay sighed deeply. "I knew you were going to say that. Do what you have to do, since I know you're going to do it anyway, but don't make a martyr of yourself, Kathryn."

"Maybe we should just stay in the Delta Quadrant after all," she said with a wry smile. "That should neatly sidestep the problem."

"Tempting," Chakotay said, "but I think everyone on this ship is still anxious to go home, even knowing what might be waiting for them." His mouth quirked up. "We are strangers in a strange land, far from the bones of our fathers."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, thinking about that.

"What are you looking forward to the most?" Janeway asked him softly.

Chakotay thought a moment. "Seeing my sister again," he said. "Watching the sun rise over the Arizona desert. Swimming in the Gulf of Mexico on a summer's day. What about you?"

"Seeing my mother, and my sister and her family," she said dreamily. "Losing myself in an Indiana corn field. Walking in the gardens of Golden Gate Park. Going back to Italy to see a da Vinci original."

Chakotay hesitated a little bit, and then said, "You didn't put Mark on your list."

Inside she tensed up, but tried not to show it. Not to Chakotay. "It will be good to see him, too. But also... difficult." She paused to choose her words carefully. "He's sure to be married by now. It won't come as a surprise, but I have a feeling old memories are going to come back to me when I see him again, whether I want them to or not."

A second silence stretched out, less comfortable than the first. Janeway thought about the promise Chakotay had made her, two years ago, to wait for her until they got home and were free to pursue a relationship. She had tried to convince him not to make that promise, despite longing for him to do exactly that, because she didn't want him to live out a life of loneliness in the Delta Quadrant.

So far as she knew, he hadn't been with anyone since then. And on a small ship like Voyager, a secret like that would be hard to keep. But she also didn't know for certain that he was still waiting for her. They hadn't spoken of it since: a blessing, because Janeway knew the last thing she needed was a distraction like that while she was trying to run a ship. It was possible he had changed his mind. Feelings could cool over time. It didn't help that they had continued their semi-annual tradition of The Big Ready Room Fight in the intervening years, which inevitably left them both cool to each other for weeks afterward. Their friendship had survived, as always, but had his desire? There was no way to tell, and she wasn't about to ask him now. Whatever his answer was, it would keep until they got home, if they did.

"Come on," she said, patting his knee. "Let's go play some pool."

Chez Sandrine was already crowded when they entered through the double doors and paused at the entrance to appreciate the familiar sight of the Marseille waterside restaurant: wood paneling lit by the yellow light of wall sconces and low rustic chandeliers, and the room filled with patrons - some holograms dressed as locals, and many more crewmembers in Starfleet uniform - seated around small round tables topped with flickering votive candles.

There were plenty of people gathered around the two pool tables, as well. Joe Carey and Ken Dalby were facing off on one table, loudly engaging in trash talk with each other as Harry Kim and the Doctor, among others, laughed in appreciation.

At the other table, Samantha and Naomi Wildman and Neelix were playing. Their table was less crowded, so Janeway and Chakotay walked over to watch. Neelix was letting young Naomi hold the cue with him as he patiently explained to her how to bank a shot. Most children her age would have lost interest quickly and starting batting balls around the table, Janeway thought, but Naomi was giving Neelix her full attention and asking astute questions.

After several turns back and forth with her mother, Naomi finally managed to sink a ball without help. She smiled proudly as Neelix patted her on the back.

"All right, let's let someone else use the table, darling," Samantha said then, and in short order the balls were racked up again and Samantha had handed her cue off to Tuvok.

"Captain? Or Commander?" Neelix asked, holding his cue out questioningly in the direction of Janeway and Chakotay.

"It better be you," Chakotay said to Janeway. "You actually have a prayer of beating Tuvok."

Janeway accepted the cue and watched as Tuvok broke the rack. Playing a Vulcan at pool was every bit as challenging as playing one at poker, Janeway mused - you could count on them to find the perfect angle every single time, not only to sink their own balls but also to leave the cue ball in frustratingly unhelpful places for their opponent.

This game was no different. Tuvok took stripes and, without a word, sank four in rapid succession before Janeway even got a turn. As she eyed the table and weighed her options carefully, Neelix began attempting to strike up a conversation with Tuvok.

"If we get back to Earth, Mr. Vulcan," Neelix said, "what's the first thing you'll do?"

"Travel to San Francisco for debriefing at Starfleet Headquarters," Tuvok said.

"What, go to work? But surely you'll see your family first!" Neelix objected, shocked.

"Perhaps," Tuvok said. "It is likely my children will not be free to leave their studies on a moment's notice. Vulcan masters are strict and demanding."

"Then you should go straight to Vulcan to see them!" Neelix said.

"I will not be at liberty until my duties are complete, Mr. Neelix."

Neelix scoffed cheerfully. "There's a time and a place for duties, Commander, but after eight years away I am certain Starfleet Command will let you see your family before they lock you up in meetings for months and months at a time! Don't you think so, Captain?"

"I'm sure they'll be invited to Earth," Janeway said absent-mindedly as she lined up her shot. "Five, corner pocket." A quick tap of the cue, and the ball went down.

"There, now, you see!" Neelix said to Tuvok triumphantly. "They'll be so happy to see you, I just know it!"

"They will not," Tuvok said flatly. "As I have explained to you many times, Mr. Neelix, Vulcans do not-"

"-experience emotion, yes, yes, I know that's what you _say_ ," Neelix blustered on. "But you can't tell me that even a Vulcan woman, after believing her husband dead for eight years, won't get misty-eyed when she sees him again! And your children, why, they'll be jumping for joy!"

"My children are adults now, except the youngest," Tuvok pointed out. "They will be well-advanced in mental discipline by now. You will not see them jump for joy, or any other emotion."

"But your little girl! I've seen the pictures, Commander. She doesn't have the poker face you do. She's almost _smiling_ in them!"

"Asil was 4 years old when those holopics were taken," Tuvok said with the air of a martyr. "She is now 12. She has undoubtedly learned better control from her mother."

Neelix was quiet for a moment as he watched Janeway circle the table and sink the seven ball, and then he started right back up again.

"I bet one of your sons has experienced pon farr by now," he said, seizing on the idea eagerly. "You might have a little grandson or granddaughter waiting to meet you. I'll bet a toddler Vulcan is capable of jumping for joy. Now, don't deny it, Commander."

"I have no intention of doing so," Tuvok said wearily. "But if I do have grandchildren, I will be a stranger to them. They will have no reason to experience emotion upon my return."

Neelix's face fell comically, and Janeway was hard-pressed not to laugh. If he thought he was going to get to witness Tuvok's joyful family reunion, he was sorely mistaken. She had seen Tuvok interact with T'Pel, long ago, and she had detected no signs of the kind of gushing, demonstrative love that Neelix was clearly hoping for. There was undoubtedly a deep and abiding connection there, and when Janeway had contacted T'Pel only a day before leaving for Deep Space Nine, she had picked up on all the subtle cues that let Janeway know T'Pel missed her husband, though not a tear had been shed or a word of grief uttered. Picking up on subtlety, however, was not one of Neelix's strong suits.

"How about you, Neelix?" Chakotay said, clearly trying to steer the conversation in another direction before Tuvok became downright curt. "What are you looking forward to?"

"Why, I hardly know where to start!" Neelix said. "There are so many places I want to see! All the Earth recreations I've seen here on the holodeck: Fair Haven, Hawaii, and of course Sandrine's. I'd love to see the real thing. And San Francisco. I'll need to start right away on persuading those admirals to let me serve as an ambassador for the Federation, of course."

Janeway missed her shot. As Neelix rattled on about all the places he was going to visit and the things he was going to do, needing little encouragement from Chakotay, Tuvok methodically sank ball after ball and then finally the eight ball. Janeway straightened up and sighed.

"Nice one, Tuvok," Paris said, coming up to the table with Torres by his side, having seen the last shot. "It's good to see someone humble the captain for a change."

"She lets you win on occasion, Tom," Chakotay said.

"Lets me?" Paris snorted. "Please. She didn't let me whip out my famous jump shot that demolished her that one time."

"Are you still going on about that a month later?" Chakotay said. "Is that the only time you beat her?"

"No, but it was one of my more spectacular successes," Paris said. "Ask anyone."

"Don't," Torres said. "Or we'll never hear the end of it."

"I'll do it again right now," Paris said. "Bring it on, Captain. I'll even let you break."

Janeway shook her head. "No, thank you, I think I've had enough for now."

"You're just saying that because Tuvok already put you on the ropes," Paris said.

"Mr. Paris, how would you like to scrub out the plasma manifold with a toothbrush tonight?" Janeway asked with a very sweet smile.

"Not very much, ma'am," Paris said, smiling sweetly back. "Why do you ask?"

"Shut up, flyboy," Torres said. "Don't tempt her."

"Here," Janeway said, holding out her cue, and Paris grudgingly took it.

"Would you like to play, Lieutenant?" Tuvok asked, offering his cue to Torres.

"No, thanks," Torres said, holding up a fending hand. "I'm fine."

Paris chuckled. "She can't lean over the table anymore," he explained to Tuvok with a smirk. "Baby gets in the way."

"And whose fault is that?" Torres said, rolling her eyes.

"Beats me," Paris said, shrugging. "I have no idea what causes this mysterious phenomenon, do you?"

Neelix chortled loudly, and then suddenly cast a concerned look over at Naomi Wildman, who was helpfully pulling all the balls out of the pockets and, thankfully, did not appear to be paying attention to the conversation. Samantha Wildman, perched on a stool nearby, shook her head ruefully with a smile on her face.

"And here I thought you were a nurse," Torres said.

"Just don't get too close to me while I play, B'eh," Paris said, patting her belly lightly before passing the triangle over to Naomi so she could rack up. "I might mistake you for an eight ball."

"Shut up, Tom," Torres said again, crossing her arms, but she was smiling.

"Black ball goes in the middle, sweetie," Paris said to Naomi. "That's it. Okay, who's playing me?"

"I will," Chakotay said, taking the cue from Tuvok. "I've been practicing enough that you shouldn't be able to humiliate me quite as badly as last time."

"Here's the chalk, Commander," Naomi said. "Watch out that he doesn't snooker you." She really was remarkably mature for a 6-year-old, Janeway thought, but then again her Ktarian heritage meant she was growing up faster than a fully human child would.

Six years old. Janeway was struck by the realization that Naomi was the same age Seven had been at her assimilation. Suddenly she shivered. Here they all were, cheerfully pretending that tomorrow they would be on their way home, but deep down inside they all knew it could end very differently. And Naomi... she was just a little girl. Despite all the former drones she had befriended - Seven, Mezoti, Icheb, the twins - she surely had no comprehension of what it really meant to be assimilated. Looking at Naomi, Janeway had a vision of Borg implants springing out of her flesh, and a bald head in place of her long red locks, and she felt her stomach turn over.

Chakotay broke the rack with a loud crack, and balls exploded in every direction.

"Nice," Torres said, counting how many balls had dropped, while Paris grimaced.

Janeway beckoned to Naomi, and when the little girl came over, Janeway dropped down to one knee.

"Does the captain's assistant have a hug for the captain?" she asked.

"Aye aye, Captain," Naomi said cheerfully, and threw her arms around Janeway's neck and squeezed tight. Janeway hugged her back. Over Naomi's shoulder, she saw Tuvok watching them, and she knew him well enough to recognize sympathy in his dark eyes. No doubt he knew exactly what was going through her mind.

She released Naomi, who smiled at her and then wandered back over to watch the game. Naomi had endured countless battles on Voyager, Janeway thought, playing with her toys under the watchful eyes of Neelix while the red alert blared overhead and enemy torpedoes pounded at the shields. And after every battle she had been sent back to her lessons or to her bed as if it were a perfectly normal thing for a child to experience on a regular basis. No wonder she was unconcerned tonight. She had no reason to believe that tomorrow would be any different.

It _wouldn't_ be any different, Janeway swore to herself. They had not come this far to trip at the finish line. She would get them all back home, safe and sound, even Naomi. Her fate would not be the same as Seven's.

And speaking of Seven of Nine... Janeway looked around, and saw her sitting alone at one end of the bar, not even watching the hubbub going on around the pool tables. As she watched, Sandrine came over to Seven, polishing a glass, and asked if she wanted something to drink, but Seven didn't even look up to acknowledge the hologram, and after a few seconds Sandrine shrugged, poured herself a drink, and went back to watch the pool game.

Extracting herself from the crowd around the pool tables, Janeway went over to the bar and perched on a stool beside Seven, who merely glanced at her and then went back to staring at the counter.

"Everything all right, Seven?" Janeway asked.

"Yes."

"Not worried about the battle in the morning?" Janeway said.

"We will either succeed or we will fail," Seven said. "To worry would be an inefficient use of mental reserves."

Janeway cleared her throat. "Well put, Seven."

They sat there in silence for a while. Janeway had just about decided that Seven was in no mood to talk and it would be better not to push, when suddenly Seven spoke up.

"You are correct, Captain," she said quietly. "I am worried."

"But not about the battle," Janeway said.

Seven nodded slowly. "I am... uncertain what will happen to me if we make it to the Alpha Quadrant."

"Well, it's up to you, Seven," Janeway said. "You know that if you decide to join Starfleet, I would be happy to sponsor your application."

"Starfleet is your dream, Captain," Seven said. "Not mine."

Janeway sighed inwardly. They had had this conversation before, about two years after Seven had come aboard Voyager and the Doctor determined she no longer needed to wear the bodysuits that helped regenerate her skin. Seven had finally agreed to wear a science uniform, mostly because the Doctor had persuaded her that it would help her fit in with the crew, and because she admitted it was a practical garment that would not require her to wrestle with the complexities of human fashion on a daily basis. She had steadfastly refused, however, to accept a provisional rank pin like the former Maquis crewmembers wore. After numerous uncomfortable conversations on the subject over the months and years following, Janeway had finally backed off, recognizing that Seven was not ready to commit herself to a particular future yet.

She had hoped that by now Seven would have embraced what her uniform stood for, but apparently she had underestimated Seven's stubbornness.

"Then what is your dream?" Janeway asked.

Seven paused for a long moment. "I do not know," she finally admitted.

"You don't have to join Starfleet, of course," Janeway said. "There are plenty of other worthwhile ways to spend your time. Just about any civilian research facility on Earth would love to have someone with your skills."

"I have never lived anywhere but on a starship," Seven said stiffly.

Harry Kim and the Doctor caught Seven's last remark as they sat down at the bar next to Janeway and Seven.

"Oh, you're going to love Earth, Seven," Kim said with a ready smile. "Trust me. You may not have been there before, but it's your home. There's no place like it in the entire galaxy."

"I have studied the files about Earth in Voyager's database," Seven said. "It is much like any other M-class planet."

"Not true!" Kim objected vehemently.

"Explain how it is different," Seven said.

"Because it's... it's just..." Kim floundered. "Look, I don't know how to explain it, but Earth is different. It just is."

"Humans evolved on Earth," the Doctor pointed out. "As a result, all the conditions are optimal for them. The gravity on Earth is just right, as is the atmosphere and the food. Naturally a human will feel more at home there than anywhere else."

"Obviously," Seven said.

"No, that isn't it at all!" Kim said.

"It's more to do with the lifestyle," Janeway supplied. "Out here in space, you're always worried about having enough resources to take care of your needs and keep the ship powered. You get used to carrying weapons because you never know what to expect from the people you encounter. But on Earth, no one ever goes without. No one fears for their lives."

Kim nodded. "Right. Just think, Seven. With the human race spread out across so many colonies, there's room and to spare on Earth. You could get your own place. You could choose from any climate you want. Any kind of house. There are modern cities, if you want to live surrounded by people and all the conveniences of technology. Or, if you would rather have peace and quiet and the beauty of nature, you can find a little spot of your own in one of the traditionalist communities. No matter where you go, everyone is friendly and welcoming."

"Even to a Borg?" Seven said pointedly.

Kim thought a moment. "It might take a while, but I think once people got to know you, they would get used to the idea. Didn't we, here on Voyager?"

"Yes," Seven said, "because you were not given a choice." She looked meaningfully at Janeway.

Janeway laughed a little. "I didn't order anyone to befriend you, Seven. That happened on its own. And you know, there is a precedence for this. You aren't the first human to be liberated from the Collective."

"Locutus," Seven said. "I am aware of him."

"Despite being assimilated, Captain Jean-Luc Picard was trusted enough to be reinstated as captain of Starfleet's flagship," Janeway said. "I don't think you need to worry too much about being accepted, Seven."

"He had the advantage of a long and successful career before his assimilation," Seven said. "Whereas I am a stranger."

"Not true," Janeway said. "You have 160 people on this ship who know you and will help in any way they can. And you have a record of service aboard Voyager that is quite impressive. Whatever you decide to do, we can help you make it happen. Just because we get home doesn't mean this family will break apart. You'll see."

Seven didn't look totally convinced.

"And, if they do reject you, Seven," the Doctor said cheerfully, "come and see me. I'll incorporate your story into 'Photons Be Free.' Or perhaps write a sequel: 'Ex-Borg Be Free.' We can commiserate together on the appalling treatment of artificial and semi-artificial lifeforms by their biological counterparts."

"Thank you, Doctor," Seven said coolly.

"Terrific," Kim muttered.

"I'll be more than happy to make time for my friends," the Doctor continued, "although I'm sure I'll be very busy on Earth, between teaching seminars on my many ground-breaking medical discoveries here in the Delta Quadrant, advocating for my fellow holograms, and perfecting the Emergency Command Hologram programming for immediate implementation on all Starfleet ships. In fact, allow me to outline for you now what I intend to-"

"Excuse me, please, Doctor," Janeway said hastily. "I have to get back to the Bridge for an hour so Jenkins can take a turn down here in Sandrine's."

Janeway left, leaving the Doctor talking to Seven, who looked mildly interested, and Kim, who looked as though he desperately wanted to follow Janeway to the Bridge.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Go on, leave a review, tell me what you thought! You know you want to!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Icheb was already in Cargo Bay 2 regenerating when Seven of Nine arrived; he had spent only half an hour at Sandrine's that evening before leaving, saying he had worn himself out with Tuvok's battle simulations on the holodeck earlier that day.

The Doctor had been unable to convert the two of them into nanite carriers, since their systems were already saturated with Borg nanoprobes they needed to maintain certain implants critical to their survival, but their experience as former drones meant they would be invaluable in any hand-to-hand combat situation, and so they had joined the squads of carriers for training, armed with the nanite dart guns the Coalition had developed.

Seven gazed at Icheb for a moment, standing in his regeneration alcove in his Starfleet cadet uniform, his eyes closed and his face serene. She felt a moment of envy. Icheb knew exactly what he would be doing with his life if they made it to the Alpha Quadrant. He had nearly completed the first year of Academy curriculum, thanks to tutoring from Tuvok, Torres, the Doctor, and a number of other crewmen willing to volunteer their time to teach him a variety of subjects, in addition to the schooling Seven had already been providing him. He was an enthusiastic learner, and despite his introverted tendencies he was supremely confident that he would enjoy exploring the galaxy alongside a Starfleet crew for the rest of his life.

"Good night, Icheb," Seven said, as she always did, although tonight he was not conscious to hear it.

She stepped into her own regeneration alcove, and heard the equipment behind her power up. Moments later, she slipped into the dreamless regeneration of a Borg drone.

 _"Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01."_

Seven opened her eyes. She was standing in a moonlit forest, apparently alone, yet she was certain she had heard someone whisper her name.

Slowly, she turned in a circle and examined her surroundings. Although the moonlight was dim, she recognized this place, and the realization made her catch her breath.

Unimatrix Zero.

Impossible. It had been destroyed. And yet, here it was. Unexpectedly, a wave of emotion washed over her, a strange mixture of happiness and regret layered over poorly buried memories, a mix so potent that it left her feeling physically ill. What was it Harry Kim called it, when he longed for Earth? Homesickness. That was what she was feeling. Homesick.

It was an unpleasant sensation, and yet she did not want it to stop. Seven touched the trunk of a tree, and saw that her hand was smooth and perfect rather than criss-crossed with an assimilation tubule array. She looked down and noted that, yes, she was fully human and wearing normal clothing, as she always appeared in Unimatrix Zero. She remembered her many meetings here with Axum and Laura and the others as they regenerated on their respective vessels thousands of lightyears apart, enjoying in this virtual reality the only snatches of freedom and individuality they could experience as drones in the Collective.

 _"Seven of Nine."_

There it was again. A woman, whispering her name.

"Who is there?" Seven asked loudly.

 _"I am the Borg."_

Only the Queen would speak thus. Seven felt a thrill of fear, and yet... the voice was not as she remembered it.

 _"I rebuilt this place for you, Seven of Nine,"_ the voice continued. _"We must speak, and I thought you would be more comfortable in these familiar surroundings."_

"I have nothing to say to you or any other drone," Seven said. She began searching cautiously around the trees and ferns for the source of the voice.

 _"Yet you spoke to the drone designated as Five of Twelve, Secondary Adjunct of Trimatrix 942. Don't deny it. We intercepted the transmission."_

Seven froze. A cold chill began working its way up her spine.

"His name is Axum," she said, her voice deepening in anger. "What have you done with him?"

 _"What we do with our drones is not your concern, Seven of Nine, but what you are doing with the crew of Voyager concerns_ us _,"_ the voice continued. _"We detected the translink signature from your cranial transceiver. We know you are near our transportation hub. No doubt Captain Janeway believes she can use it to warn the Federation of our approaching fleet. She will fail."_

"Where is Axum?" Seven demanded.

 _"I will assimilate the Federation. Voyager's resistance is futile."_

Seven's fear was transforming into a cold fury. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice ringing out harshly into the night air.

 _"I am the Borg."_

"No. I remember the Queen. Your voice is not her voice."

 _"Once I was a drone like yourself. The Queen has set me apart, perfected me, so that I may rule our new territory in the Alpha Quadrant on her behalf."_

Could it be true? The Borg did not deceive, and yet what the voice was saying was unprecedented. "There can't be two queens," Seven said. "It would introduce chaos to the Collective."

The voice was gentle, amused. _"You imply disparity when there is none. My sister and I are one."_

"Then why create you at all?" Seven asked.

 _"You know why, Seven of Nine. Humanity is persistent in its resistance to the Borg Collective. Our failure to adapt to their unique qualities has hindered our quest for perfection. I was created to bridge the gulf between human and Borg."_

"I've heard this before," Seven said angrily. "The Queen attempted to use Jean-Luc Picard in this way. She attempted to use _me_ in this way. What makes her think she will succeed with you?"

 _"I am unique. When the Queen chose to make me her counterpart, I did not resist her as Picard did, as you did. Your memories of your individuality were too fresh. You were not prepared to give it up. I was. I was the first human being to be assimilated, and long ago I gave up the foolish dream of regaining my old, imperfect life."_

Seven hardly dared to breathe. "You... are human?"

 _"My biological distinctiveness will ease humanity's journey to perfection. I am Locutus: the one who speaks. If they will not cease resisting assimilation... then I will persuade them to_ choose _it."_

Seven did not hide her contempt. "They will never make such a choice."

"Are you certain? Come and talk with me, Seven of Nine, and I will persuade _you_."

Inexplicably, Seven felt a rush of emotion at the invitation, and once again she was able to identify it as homesickness. Why was she homesick? She should be afraid of this new Locutus. She _was_ afraid. Yet she also felt an aching hole in her heart, longing to be filled. If only Captain Janeway were here. She would have been able to explain this strange new emotion.

Uncertainly, she spoke. "Who are you? I remember your voice. What was your former designation?"

The ferns to Seven's left rustled, and she turned to see a tall, slender woman emerge into the clearing. The woman's strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a low twist at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in an elegant draped sweater and long skirt.

She was also achingly familiar, so much so that Seven found herself staring hungrily at her, taking in every minute detail, every feature, from the crinkles at the corners of her blue eyes to the graceful lines of her neck.

"Do you remember me, Seven of Nine?" she asked. "I remember you. My first Borg designation was One of Twelve, Secondary Adjunct of Trimatrix 28.

"But I think you will remember my human designation better," the woman added after a little more thought. "Once, I was known as Erin Hansen, but you always called me Mama."

Stunned, Seven took several steps back, blinking rapidly.

" _You_...?" she stammered.

"Yes. You do remember, don't you, Seven? Children never forget their mothers." Locutus walked toward her slowly, stretching out a welcoming hand. "Are you pleased to see me?"

Seven fought for breath, her chest heaving. "Pleased?" she said in a strangled voice at last.

"Human children usually _are_ pleased to see their parents. You don't seem pleased at all, Seven." She looked almost disappointed.

"Perhaps it is because I am no longer fully human," Seven growled. "And my feelings toward you are irrelevant!"

"Irrelevant? You still speak like a drone," Locutus said. Her voice was gentle, her face was gentle, and Seven could even smell the subtle fragrance her mother had often worn, a fragrance which Seven had not remembered until this very moment, and now, seeing her and hearing her and smelling her - in short, everything about this woman - enraged Seven past the point of endurance.

"It is _your_ fault that we are drones at all!" she shouted. "It was your carelessness... yours and Papa's... What kind of a mother brings a child to study the Collective?" She clenched her fists. "You... ruined... my... _life_!"

"I don't need to defend the choices of Erin Hansen," Locutus said coolly. A breeze drifted through the trees and lifted the strands of wavy hair around her face. "She regretted them, when she was first assimilated, but that is only because her mind was small. Limited. Now that I have achieved perfection, I see that assimilation drew us closer together as a family. I could hear your thoughts, and your father's thoughts, and the two of you could hear my thoughts. Don't you remember? It was remarkable."

"It was a violation!" Seven snapped.

"Erin Hansen was a scientist," she continued as though she hadn't heard. "It wasn't long after assimilation that she came to see the benefits of cybernetic implants. The human body is weak, Seven. Think of all the things you can do that the others on Voyager cannot. When we arrive in the Alpha Quadrant, we will tempt humanity with our technology. In Voyager's absence the Federation came to know its weakness in a way it never did before. When they hear what I have to offer them, they will beg us to fit them with implants so that they can ensure their future survival."

"You underestimate human determination," Seven said. "No matter how weak they are, they will never give up their individuality, not even to save themselves."

"I know," Locutus said quietly. "That's why I won't be asking them to give it up."

Seven was stunned into silence.

"Individuality is inefficient, but the Collective can no longer deny that it is a great source of strength for humans," Locutus said. "I have proposed to the Queen that the Collective adapt this strength to our own purposes, and she has permitted me to try. Each human who joins us will be permitted to retain a certain amount of individuality. We will improve their bodies with implants, and require full cooperation in our common cause, but they will keep their own unique voice."

She began to walk a slow circle around Seven.

"Working together, we will direct the resources of the Federation to better use," she continued. "No longer will they be squandered on frivolities such as art... leisure... the raising of children. Instead we will build ships, weapons and unicomplexes, and focus our energies on expanding lifespans, defending our territory, and increasing our numbers by assimilating the Federation's enemies. By working together, the Borg and the Federation would become unstoppable. We would fill the galaxy with a new kind of drone... a stronger drone. Like you, Seven. Are you not far more powerful now than when you were merely Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01?"

"I am not a drone, weak or strong," Seven said. "And you are not the first sentient being to believe they can set themselves up as a benevelent tyrant. The Federation is accustomed to self-governance. What makes you think they would choose to follow you?"

"Wouldn't you?" Locutus asked. "If you could achieve perfection, and yet remain yourself, would you not do anything for such a prize? Isn't that what you've been trying to do on Voyager all this time? You frequently submit your will to Captain Janeway's, not because you cannot resist her, but because you choose not to. The benefits of compliance outweigh the benefits of resistance. You say you are not a drone, but you lie, as all humans do. You are Janeway's drone. A chain you choose is still a chain. But chains have uses."

"And what about you?" Seven said. "Are you free of chains? Is your will free?"

"Of course not," she said serenely, folding her hands in front of her. "I am bound to the will of the Collective, as personified by the Queen."

Seven stepped close to her mother, looking straight into her blue eyes.

"Then how can you, a slave, lead a free people to perfection?" she demanded.

Locutus thought for a long time.

"It is a point I had not considered," she said at last. "I knew it would be useful to speak to you, Seven of Nine. Your individuality, your experiences, will be invaluable in guiding this endeavor. Join us. Help us. You don't belong on a Starfleet ship."

"You don't know me anymore. You don't know where I belong."

"I know that here, in this place, where you can appear however you wish, you are not wearing a uniform."

"And _you_ are not dressed as a drone."

Locutus frowned slightly at this, looking down as though she had not noticed her appearance until now. "Merely an old habit of my old mind, one I will overcome with time."

She reached out, and though Seven recoiled, Locutus put her hand on Seven's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Come back to me, Seven," she said. "We are family. You belong with me. You can teach me more about individuality. We can even send for your Papa, if you want. I know you care about your friends, but think about how hard they are fighting to get back to their families. Shouldn't you do the same?"

A weariness was settling down over Seven's shoulders. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Come back to me. When Voyager arrives at the hub, I will be watching and waiting for you. All you have to do is create a fluctuation in Voyager's shields, and I will beam you aboard. We'll be together again, as we should be."

She gently touched Seven's cheek, and when she withdrew her hand Seven was surprised to see a tear trembling on her mother's fingertip.

 _Regeneration cycle complete._

Seven opened her eyes, and she was once more in the silence of the Cargo Bay, and the tear was sliding unhindered down her face.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Next week: It's battle time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The door on Deck 11 swished open, and Captain Kathryn Janeway stepped into the empty turbolift.

"Deck 1," she said.

The turbolift began to rise in response, but almost immediately it stopped again, on Deck 10, and Tuvok got on.

He nodded seriously to her, but didn't say a word as the doors closed and the turbolift resumed. Janeway had to suppress a smile. Here they were, on the verge of assaulting a Borg stronghold, and there Tuvok was, already wearing his assimilation glove, with his hands resting loosely at his sides, and looking as calm as a summer's day. Somewhere behind that unruffled exterior he might be thinking of his children back home, but you wouldn't know it to look at him.

"Have a good meditation this morning?" she asked him.

"It was peaceful," Tuvok said.

"Good."

The turbolift stopped at Deck 8, and Seven of Nine got on. She looked considerably less calm. She turned and looked uncertainly at Janeway, who nodded and smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way, and Seven took a deep breath and turned back to face the turbolift doors.

Tom Paris and Harry Kim joined them on Deck 6. Paris laced his hands behind his back, looked casually up at the ceiling and whistled a fragment of the Captain Proton theme song, earning him a delighted grin from Kim.

"Hey, Captain," Paris said suddenly, interrupting his own tune. "Are you coming from Engineering?"

"Yes."

"How was B'Elanna doing?"

Janeway shook her head slightly. "When I left, she was shouting at Vorik to stop acting so calm, and then she added a few words in Klingon that made me wish my universal translator was broken."

Paris laughed lightly. "I'm sorry I missed it."

On Deck 4 the turbolift stopped to let Chakotay on. It was getting crowded in there, but he managed to squeeze past everyone to stand by Janeway at the back.

"How's Neelix?" Janeway asked him quietly.

"The Doctor got him all ready. He's waiting in Transporter Room 1 now."

"Good."

Paris started whistling again. Everyone else was quiet. Janeway felt Chakotay's hand find hers and give it a brief squeeze. She couldn't help but notice that his hand was as sweaty as hers.

The door swished open one last time, and they were on the Bridge. Rapidly everyone filed out and headed for their stations.

"Report," Janeway said.

Paris was already tapping away at his controls. "We're two lightyears from the rendezvous point," he said.

"The Coalition fleet reports they are standing by," Kim said.

"Torpedoes and phasers at full capacity, and EB cannon is primed," Tuvok said.

"Shields?" Janeway asked.

Seven didn't immediately answer. Janeway glanced up at the center console above the command level, and saw Seven staring at her readouts with an almost blank expression.

"Seven?" Janeway said.

Seven started as though Janeway had shouted at her, though she hadn't, and quickly assumed a business-like tone. "At full power, Captain. We are ready to switch to light shielding as soon as we wish to fire the EB cannon."

Janeway settled into the captain's chair, and took a look at the pop-up console between herself and Chakotay, where he had pulled up a tactical display.

"There are 23 cubes within range, and more appearing every moment we get closer," Chakotay told her. "Some of them are already moving to intercept our fleet."

The minutes ticked by, and more and more cubes popped up on the display. Now 30. Now 35. Now 40. It was no more than what they had expected, but Janeway couldn't help but feel her heart sink with each new blinking marker on the screen. Some part of her had still hoped that not many cubes had been mustered by this time, but it had taken them more than a month to ready the Coalition fleet, and in the meantime cubes had continued to arrive from every corner of the quadrant.

"Approaching the rendezvous point," Paris announced.

"Prepare to drop out of warp," Janeway said. "Red Alert."

Paris slid his chair to the left and tapped in a sequence of commands. The star-streaked view of warp speed was abruptly replaced with a panorama of normal space. All around them, Coalition ships were popping into view in neat and orderly formations. And in front of them...

Borg cubes. As far as the eye could see. Their blocky shapes, designed to be relentlessly efficient with no thought taken for aesthetics, were tinged with green light, and dozens of them were rapidly closing on the Coalition fleet.

"How many?" Janeway asked.

"There are 47 in total," Chakotay said quietly.

Past the cubes, they could see the tetraburnium webbing of the transwarp hub standing out black against the glaring light of the pulsar from which it drew its energy. Multiple branching arms curved from the hub's center in all directions, dotted with apertures that could take a vessel through a transwarp conduit to any of dozens of destinations throughout the galaxy. A number of Borg vessels were not heading for the Coalition fleet, but hung back, presumably to protect the hub.

"We're getting a signal from the Maypul," Kim said. "Commander Ip says the control ship has assigned us a target." On the tactical display, one of the Borg cubes nearest them was now bracketed. "We're to use the Yergal formation."

"Take us into position, Tom," Janeway said.

"Yes, ma'am."

Voyager swooped up and to starboard until she floated alongside the Ferone, one of their formation partners. Below them, the Maypul was maneuvering into center position. All around them, Coalition ships were changing position, gathering into small knots and then accelerating toward their chosen targets.

Commander Ip's voice came over the coms. "Squadron 2, prepare to go to full impulse on my mark. Voyager, keep an eye on the cube in Grid 4. Ferone, watch the cube in Grid 5. If they change position and move toward us, we'll need as much warning as possible. Ready? Mark."

Impulse engines roared to life, and as one their 12-ship formation moved forward, heading directly for their target. It didn't take long for the cube to notice their approach and adjust course to meet them head-on.

" _We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile."_

"You guys sure about that?" Paris muttered, just loud enough for Janeway to hear. She wasn't feeling quite confident enough to enjoy the sentiment, however. There were currently 47 reasons not to.

The Borg cube loomed in their viewscreen, perilously close. Its phaser beams lanced out and danced across their shields. Voyager rumbled, but did not falter, and neither did their formation partners. Ip's voice came over the com again. "Squadron 2, initiate Phase 2 on my mark. Three... two... one... mark."

The Helior and the Damad opened fire, each launching a full spread of torpedoes. With deadly accuracy, they slammed into the tractor beam generator, but when the energy flares petered out, they could see that not much damage was done, due to the cube's shielding.

"Poltiss and Longeville, change of plan for Phase 3," Ip said over the com. "Switch your targets to that tractor beam generator. The first volley wasn't enough."

They were close enough now that the cube began to launch missiles at them. Paris rocked Voyager from side to side to make a more difficult target, but there was only so much maneuvering they could do in a tight formation like this. One missile glanced across their forward shields, and Janeway hung on to her armrests as the deck dipped and shuddered beneath them.

"Shields down to 85 percent," Tuvok said.

"What's the status of that cube in Grid 4?" Janeway called out.

"Well out of range, still occupied with Squadron 6," Chakotay reported.

"We're 8,000 meters from the cube. Prepare for Phase 3," Commander Ip said. There was a short pause. "Three... two... one... mark!"

Abruptly, Voyager and seven of the ships in their formation slowed to three-quarters impulse. The four in back rocketed suddenly forward, still going at full impulse, and took a protective position in front. A fresh batch of missiles and phaser beams were already incoming, and the forward ships were now darting up and down, side to side, not to avoid the weapons fire but to absorb it. The Bridge fell quiet as the pounding on Voyager's shields abruptly ceased.

"Tom, resume full speed and get us into position," Janeway called. "Seven, drop shields, and Harry, reroute every drop of that power to the EB cannon."

It was nerve-wracking, seeing their shield output drop like a stone with a cube only 7,000 meters away. They had reserved just enough shielding to block transporter beams, since a boarding party at this stage would be disastrous, but if the four forward ships let a missile slip past them, Janeway knew it would blow straight through Voyager's hull.

"The rest of our squadron is in position," Chakotay said, and Janeway saw on the tactical display that the eight aft ships were arranged in a tight circle as planned.

"Power's up and ready to go, Captain," Kim said.

"The Maypul is transmitting coordinates for us to target," Tuvok said.

Commander Ip's voice rang out over the com. "Begin warming up the cannons."

"Do it," Janeway said.

"Twenty seconds," Tuvok said. Light blossomed in front of them as the four protectors took blow after blow to their shields. "Fifteen."

"Distance, 6,000 meters," Paris said.

They could feel it now, the vibrations through the deck, as the tricobalt reactor roared to life, sucking up every drop of power they gave it. The lights on the Bridge dimmed, and even the ventilation system fell silent momentarily. The cube they were battling filled the entire viewscreen, its malevolent green light tinging everyone on the Bridge in unnatural shades.

"Cannon is at full power," Tuvok said at the same moment Paris said, "5,000 meters."

Ip's voice rang out across the Bridge. "Initiate Phase 4 in three... two... one... mark!"

The four protectors scattered, tossing off a final volley of torpedoes at the cube's tractor beam generator and its torpedo launchers. Simultaneously, Janeway and the commanders on seven other ships shouted, "Fire!"

Eight amber energy beams jagged out of eight ships' superstructures. They all collided at the midpoint, and a single combined lightning bolt struck the cube. For a moment, the intensity of the light washed out the viewscreen, and they saw nothing but white.

Then the light began to fade, and they saw black sheets of tritanium tumbling in all directions from the place where the Borg cube had once floated.

"Got 'em!" Paris shouted, smacking his console with satisfaction.

A green haze spread across the space in front of them. Now rubble was striking Voyager's shields, and in their paper-thin state they couldn't endure it for long.

"Formation, about-face," Ip called over the com, and Squadron 2 beat a hasty but ordered retreat, to lick their wounds and restore power for the next run. Already Paxap's control ship was transmitting the coordinates of their next target. Janeway spared a moment to look over the entire battlefield; they could see all around them the green glares of multiple cube explosions.

"So far, so good," Chakotay said, glancing over at Janeway.

"That was the easy part," she said breathlessly, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Just wait until they start adapting."

As soon as full power was restored to all the ships in Squadron 2, they began their next attack run on a cube. Unfortunately, Janeway's last words turned out to be prescient. Before they had even begun to warm up the EB cannon, a second cube veered dangerously close to them. It was the designated target for Squadron 6, which was only in Phase 2 of an attack run and was unfortunately positioned on the far side of the cube, and therefore in no position to help them.

Clearly the Collective had realized they couldn't afford to let one cube face a squadron alone, and they intended to combine the firepower of two cubes against them.

Commander Ip rapidly gave the order to break formation. No sense in staying on target while the second cube demolished them from the side.

"Get away from our target and head for Squadron 6's cube. Use the Guntry maneuver," Ip instructed Squadron 2 over the com. "Get to the far side as quick as you can, so the first cube can't hit us without hitting the other. Meet at the following coordinates to resume formation. Look sharp and avoid friendly fire."

They broke apart and swarmed the second cube from all sides as it unleashed missiles and phaser beams at them. Squadron 2 did their best to give as good as they got. As Voyager swung to the far side, the first cube in hot pursuit, they could see that Squadron 6 was still in formation and rapidly closing the distance between them.

A tractor beam shot out from the second cube and snagged the Ferone, stopping it cold in its flight path right in front of Voyager. Janeway didn't even have time to shout an order, but Paris lurched Voyager to starboard and they just missed a collision with the Ferone.

"Target that generator, aft torpedos!" Janeway said, but an instant later, a cutting beam lanced out from the cube and to their horror, they watched it slice the Ferone right in half. Now they could see a perfect cross-section of the Coalition ship, its severed edges sparking into the black of space.

There was no time to react. Voyager and the rest of Squadron 2 were past the second cube, and Squadron 6 whipped past them in perfect formation, going in the opposite direction, their superstructures crackling with energy ready to be unleashed.

Voyager came about just in time to see Squadron 6's combined energy bolt strike the second cube. Next to it, the Ferone drifted in two pieces, with a half-dozen escape pods just emerging from their launchers.

It was all swallowed up in the white heat of the cube's destruction. Voyager shook violently as the shockwave struck them; too close. Paris lost control of the helm, and Voyager tilted up as they were propelled forcefully away from the center of the explosion. What followed next was a jumble of shouts and a desperate attempt by everyone to get back in their seats and regain control of navigation.

When it was over, Voyager was back on course for the rendezvous point, her shields a little cooked but none the worse for wear. Below them, they could see the shattered, sparking remnants of the cube and the Ferone all interspersed and spreading slowly across space.

The cube they had originally been targeting was still hot on their heels. It took a little creative maneuvering, guided by Commander Ip, to keep Squadron 2 just out of its range while they worked their way back into formation. With the Ferone gone, now they had only seven ships with EB cannons, plus their four protectors. Their combined EB weapon would not pack so much of a wallop now, but they had made contingency plans for this.

Commander Ip was on the com, instructing them to initiate Yergal formation, beta variation. Once more they began approaching their target cube. Once more, they had not yet dropped shields to warm up the EB cannon when Chakotay warned: "A tactical sphere is approaching us from vector 32 mark 54."

Worse, the sphere was not even hindered by another squadron this time. But to their surprise, Commander Ip acknowledged Chakotay's warning and then ordered initiation of Phase 3 anyway.

"Do it," Janeway ordered, and it was a mark of the crew's discipline that no one stopped to argue, but once again Paris slowed the ship and permitted the protector ships to take position in front of Voyager while Seven dropped shields and Tuvok began warming up the cannon. The sphere was still coming from behind and above their port bow.

Now Ip was issuing rapid commands. "The moment we unleash our EB cannons, everyone break formation this time and retreat using the alternate vectors I'm sending over now. We should reach our target just before the sphere comes within weapons range, but it's going to be close. Don't let your speed flag for a moment."

The seconds ticked by, and on Ip's mark Voyager and the six other attack ships unleashed their energy bolts as the second cube bore down on them. Struck by their combined beam, their target cube began to explode, and Paris guided Voyager unerringly along their assigned escape vector.

The approaching sphere was perilously close to them as the rubble from the explosion rained against their hull, but it appeared Ip had been right about the squadron staying just out of its range. They were making good time, while their pursuer was caught closer to the exploding cube and its speed was hampered by a massive spray of debris.

They were all making good time... except the Helior. It had fired forward thrusters briefly to avoid a collision with the remnants of a Borg vinculum spinning across space, but suddenly its impulse engines went dark and it coasted on at three-quarters speed, with no way to regain its lost momentum.

Janeway knew in a moment what had happened. In some of the practice runs, the EB cannon had occasionally drained the Coalition ships of power so thoroughly that their impulse engines would stall. The best the engineers could do in their limited time before the assault was to develop a workaround to get them back online, but it took time, and the Helior had run out of time.

The sphere snagged the Helior with a tractor beam and began reeling it in. The Poltiss launched a full spread of aft torpedoes, but they went wide and spun off harmlessly into space.

"Everyone, hold your fire and hold your course!" Ip shouted.

It was a difficult order to follow, but they had no choice. All of Squadron 2's ships, like Voyager, were still drained of power and therefore shieldless, nor were they close enough to the sphere to launch torpedoes with any accuracy. All they could do was watch the sphere dwindle in the distance as it sped away, all the while pulling the Helior relentlessly inside.

As for the cube they had just struck, now that the green light of its explosion was dissipated, they saw that although they had scored a direct hit, they had not quite blown it to dust, no doubt due to the Ferone's empty place in their formation. A large chunk remaining from one corner of the cube was, incredibly, maneuvering its way toward Squadron 10, which was attempting to regroup after an attack run of its own.

"How long until our power is restored?" Janeway asked.

"Thirty seconds," Kim said.

Commander Ip must have been thinking along the same lines she was. He sent over a new course for Squadron 2. It brought them in range of the cube remnant just in time for them to raise shields.

On Ip's signal, the squadron unleashed a flurry of phaser fire and torpedoes at the cube remnant. With ten ships pounding away at it, it didn't survive long. Soon they were regrouping as the dust of the cube drifted past the viewscreen.

"Paxap's ship is sending us a new target-" Chakotay started to say.

"Captain," Kim broke in. "There's a Borg vessel approaching at high speed. Not a cube or a sphere." He looked up from his console, his eyes intense. "It's an octahedron. Heavily armed and heavily shielded. It's coming straight toward us."

An octahedron. Like the vessel that had carried the Borg Queen when she had attempted to abduct Seven of Nine more than a year ago.

"Signal Commander Ip," Janeway ordered Kim. "Tell them to keep their distance and don't try to engage that ship. They'll only be destroyed. Squadron 2 will just have to go on without us."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Distance?" Janeway asked.

Paris answered. "8,000 meters and closing."

Janeway glanced back at Seven, who swallowed visibly, and then bent her head over her console and tapped at her controls.

Tuvok's calm voice cut across the Bridge. "Captain, our shields are fluctuating."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when they heard an electronic buzz, and suddenly Seven disappeared from before their eyes in the green swirl of a Borg transporter beam.

Janeway jumped to her feet and walked toward Ops. "Can you get her location?" she asked.

Kim rapidly consulted his readouts. "No, ma'am," he said quietly. "The Queen's ship is too heavily shielded."

Janeway took a deep breath, let it out. "Neelix?" she asked.

Kim nodded. "He's gone too."

Tuvok broke in. "Captain, they are activating weapons."

"Evasive maneuvers!" she ordered.

Paris did his best, but the octahedron followed them, unleashing a torrent of weapons fire, and Voyager shuddered under the impact of missile after missile. Chakotay and Janeway exchanged concerned glances.

"Shields down to 60 percent," Tuvok warned. "We will not be able to endure this for long, Captain."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:** There was a technical problem with the last time I posted a chapter, and I think no email notifications were sent out as a result, so make sure you have actually read chapter 6 before you start this one! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story so far!

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

She was in the Queen's chamber. Seven knew that at a glance. It was identical to the one she had stood in more than a year ago, when the Borg Queen had attempted to convince her to rejoin the Collective. A few drones were walking about, tending to their duties and ignoring her completely. Seven felt her heart pounding in her chest, the blood pulsing painfully in her temples, and she tried to draw in calming breaths as Tuvok had taught her to do.

A series of clanks from overhead drew her attention. Seven looked up, and saw something descending, suspended by thick black cables.

It was half of a woman - a human woman. Seven could see her bald head, and her fully intact torso covered in overlapping layers of exoplating. She had one bare arm but the other was missing. Her skin was sickly pale, with gray mottling. She was looking at Seven as she descended, and she was smiling with metallic teeth that flashed in the green light.

The cables lowered the woman into a pair of synthetic legs that stood ready, and a mechanical crane swung out and attached a synthetic arm. Metallic claws emerged from the edges of the prosthetics and buried themselves into the woman's skin, holding her organic and synthetic body parts together seamlessly.

She tilted her head, first left, and then right, rolling her shoulders to get a feel for her body, and took a deep breath of satisfaction. She came toward Seven, and despite her cybernetic components she moved smoothly, gracefully, and the other drones made way for her.

"Seven of Nine," she said warmly. "I knew you would come willingly. The Queen was not so certain, but I told her I knew my daughter better than she did. Welcome home."

She was Locutus. Erin Hansen. Her mother. Seven took a shaky breath and unconsciously leaned slightly away from her. She looked so different from how she had appeared in Unimatrix Zero, with wires embedded in her skull in place of wavy hair and an unhealthy sheen on her pale skin. But the face was the same, and suddenly shreds of memory were flashing through Seven's mind: that face, smiling down on Annika as she was tucked her into her bed with her favorite red blanket, that face frowning when her work on the Raven was interrupted yet again by a little girl wanting her mother to come and play, that face screaming in pain and terror as the drones dragged her away and she shouted at Annika to run, hide, don't let them see you, get away from here...!

Seven shook her head, and forced herself to look away from Locutus and look instead at the tactical screens in the chamber. She could see Voyager, trying desperately to avoid weapons fire, but its shields were lit up with blow after blow from the octahedron vessel.

"Please," she said to Locutus. "Please, don't destroy them."

"I knew you would say that," Locutus said. "But your friends will try to take you back, Seven, and I cannot permit that."

"No," Seven said. "I told them I wanted to be with my family. I told them to leave me here. Captain Janeway promised they would."

"I do not believe Captain Janeway would give you up so easily," Locutus said. "She is strong. Determined." Locutus turned thoughtful. "She would make an excellent Queen herself."

"She gave her word," Seven repeated, her voice hard. "I told her I was not her drone. She agreed. She would not hold me against my will. It isn't the Starfleet way."

Locutus smiled slightly. "You told her that? So independent. You were like that from the beginning. You always wanted to do things for yourself long before you were ready to. Always trying to put on your shoes before your little fingers could manage the fastenings. Your father was like that, too. When they told him that it was foolish for a pair of scientists in a single ship to study the Borg, it only made him more determined. Tell me, Seven, why shouldn't I destroy Voyager?"

"Because I will not cooperate with you if you do," Seven said.

"If you have left Voyager, then Voyager is now irrelevant to you. Your sentiment is weakness, Seven. Janeway is dangerous. We expected Voyager to come, but we did not expect them to bring a fleet. We did not expect the weapons of Species 8472. You must see that we cannot permit anyone in the fleet to survive this battle. Their knowledge of this technology could spread to other species and threaten our existence."

"You said before that you valued my perspective," Seven said sharply. "That sentiment which you call weakness is shared by all humans. If you would persuade them to join the Collective, you must respect their sentiments, even if you do not agree with them." Suppressing her fear, Seven walked slowly toward Locutus. "You were the one who proposed using diplomacy rather than force to assimilate the Federation," she said. "Diplomacy begins with trust. If you let Voyager go, you will earn the trust of the Federation. You will earn my trust."

Locutus tilted her head and thought for a long time. Nervously Seven glanced at the tactical screens. Voyager's shields were almost gone.

"Please," she said. "Please spare them."

Locutus gazed at her. Seven noticed that her eyes were still blue, not black like the Queen's. She narrowed those eyes at Seven, and then wordlessly looked at one of the drones in the royal chamber. He tapped several controls, and the onslaught abruptly halted. A tractor beam flashed out and ensnared Voyager.

"Very well," Locutus said. "We will board Voyager. My drones will dismantle their weapon and pilot their ship into the conduit that leads to Wolf 359. When we arrive, we will use Voyager as a bargaining chip."

"But you will not assimilate them?" Seven said sharply.

Locutus raised her eyebrows. "That will depend on how hard they resist."

Seven took a shaky breath. "Thank you. Thank you... Mama."

Her hands twitched awkwardly at her sides and then, impulsively, she moved toward Locutus with arms outstretched.

Only a foot away, Seven hit an invisible forcefield and staggered back, tingling from head to toe from the shock of the blow.

Locutus looked at her levelly from the other side of the forcefield. "What do you think you are doing, Seven of Nine?"

Seven gasped for breath, and then cast her eyes down, confused and ashamed. "I am... sorry. I thought... I just remembered. When I was little, and you gave me something I wanted, I used to..." Her voice trailed off.

Locutus' eyes softened a little. "Yes. I remember it too. You are so human, Seven. So full of sentiment. But perhaps it is better that you are. You can help me understand the others."

She blinked, and the forcefield between them deactivated. Locutus held out her arms. "Come."

Hesitantly Seven came forward, glancing briefly over Locutus' shoulder at an expressionless drone that was standing at the perimeter of the room, watching them.

"Come," Locutus said gently, and folded Seven into her arms.

Seven could feel her mother's arms across her back, one hard metal, the other soft flesh. The embrace was not anything like what she remembered from her childhood. She was taller than her mother now, and instead of a cloud of soft hair tumbling down to tickle her cheek, there was only cold damp skin, and a tangle of wires emerging from her mother's skull. Seven was choked by fear and revulsion.

Then she smelled it: the same old familiar scent of her mother, subtle and floral, although it was now contaminated by a strange metallic odor. Unbidden, tears started from her eyes. No. She didn't want to feel this way about her mother. But against her own wishes, she did. She pitied this woman whose foolish mistakes had destroyed her family... and herself. The Borg were right. Sentiment was a weakness.

Seven could see over Locutus' shoulder that the drone she had locked eyes with earlier was coming toward them now. But just before he reached them, two other drones abruptly marched in from the sides and held his arms firmly, halting his progress.

Locutus released Seven and whirled around.

"You are not in my contingent," she said to the drone being held. "You should not be here. What is your designation?"

The drone didn't answer, but beads of sweat were trickling down his yellowed temples.

Locutus inspected his features. "Species 218. Talaxian. Their dense musculature makes them excellent drones. But I cannot hear your voice. Explain."

She stared at the tube curving from the spotted side of the drone's skull down to his jaw. Suddenly, she grabbed it and yanked hard. It disconnected, but no fluids poured out. Locutus' eyes hardened.

She turned toward Seven. "Is this a friend of yours?"

"Please," Seven said quickly. "His name is Neelix. He only came to protect me-"

"And so he will," Locutus said to Seven, eyes narrowing. She turned back to Neelix, adding, "but I'm afraid only _real_ drones are permitted in this chamber."

She stretched out her hand, and before Seven could move or speak, assimilation tubules sprang from the knuckles of her cybernetic hand and punctured Neelix's neck. He cried out, and fell heavily to his knees, groaning and clutching at the wound.

Coolly, Locutus bent down to speak into his ear. "You wish to protect my daughter? Very well. I will assign you to that task. Your designation is One of Ten, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 451. Your instructions: prevent anyone from Voyager coming near her again." She paused a moment. "Will you comply?"

Eyes half-closed in pain, Neelix looked up, and the green light of the chamber tinged his yellow skin and made him look sickly. He spoke haltingly, between shudders of pain.

"I'd rather... be assigned... to the kitchen!" he gasped out.

Locutus frowned, and she bent down, tilting Neelix's head to the side to look at him more closely. The veins in his neck were turning gray as the nanoprobes began to flood his bloodstream. She relaxed and smiled softly. "You will not feel that way in a few minutes, One of- Agh!"

Neelix had thrust one fist upward, and the tubules from his assimilation glove punctured her throat. Her eyes widening in pain, Locutus stumbled backward and sprawled onto the deck.

Stunned, she reached up and touched her neck. Her hand came away with a tiny smear of blood.

"What have you done?" she cried, looking at Neelix. She turned toward Seven. "What have you done?"

The pair of drones grabbed Neelix once more, dragging him backward, away from Locutus.

Without hesitation, Seven leaped forward and tackled one of them, bringing him down to the deck with her. A fierce, silent struggle ensued. The drone kept trying with patient persistence to press the spinning saw attachment at the end of his arm down toward her chest, and it was all Seven could do to hold back his arm. To her left, Neelix was fighting to free himself from the other drone. Then Seven heard the unmistakable sound of an assimilation tubule activating, and a few moments later Neelix pushed the limp drone off himself and staggered to his feet.

"Hold him, hold him!" he shouted at Seven as he tried to get at the drone's neck.

"I am trying!" Seven grunted.

Finally Neelix was able to reach him with the tubules in his fingerless glove. The drone struggled violently for several more seconds, and then suddenly he went still, and the only sound he made was a low groan distorted by his vocal subprocessor. Seven and Neelix untangled themselves from his heavy limbs and staggered to their feet.

"Oh!" Neelix bent over, clutching at his head. "Oh, the Doctor wasn't joking. This thing drains the life from you. Whew! Is this normal, Seven? Is this how it felt to... well, you know... assimilate people?"

Seven hadn't heard the question. Cautiously, she was approaching Locutus, who was on her hands and knees in a paryoxm of pain. Seven could clearly see the back of her neck, and the star-like neural transceiver implanted there. It was dissolving, the liquified metal dripping down her pale neck like silver raindrops.

Locutus whimpered wordlessly, her flesh hand coming up to claw at the site of the implant.

They heard stamping feet in the distance. Neelix edged closer to Seven. "Can you activate the transporters?" he asked. "Quickly, before more come!"

"Too late," Seven said, and she pulled her dart gun from its hiding place under Neelix's exoplating just as more drones entered the chamber.

Seven aimed and fired, shooting four in quick succession, but another wave of drones was coming right behind, stepping over the prone drones, and now she was out of vials.

"Cover me," she said to Neelix, slinging the dart gun over one shoulder, and rapidly she input commands into the central processor while Neelix watched her back. Just before the drones reached them, she managed to reactivate the forcefield, cutting themselves and Locutus off from the others.

"Watch them," Seven said, continuing to work. "They will attempt to disrupt the forcefield."

"Voyager?" Neelix asked nervously, as the drones outside the forcefield turned to their controls.

"I have just released the tractor beam," Seven said. "Now I must tap into the transporter system. The drones onboard are already trying to block me. They can no longer hear the voice of Locutus. They know something has happened."

She worked in frantic silence. Three drones beyond the forcefield suddenly turned away from their controls and walked right through the forcefield.

"Seven!" Neelix warned. "They've adapted!"

He moved forward and began struggling with the drone in front. Seven spared a wide-eyed glance at him, then input the final command and ran over to her mother lying face-down on the deck, and rolled her over to attach a portable pattern enhancer to her exoplating.

To Seven's surprise, Locutus was still conscious. Some of the metal claws embedded in her skin to hold her body together had sprung open, and her cybernetic legs and arm were twitching and whirring as the mechanical components within attempted to reattach to her organic parts. Despite her obvious discomfort, Locutus seemed alert as she looked up at Seven. Her hairless brows came together in a puzzled expression.

"Annika?" she said weakly.

Seven stared at her. There was something subtly different in Locutus' expression. She looked softer, almost hesitant.

"Mama?" Seven said.

Neelix let out a yell. Seven looked over. One of the drones had him pinned against a wall and was attempting to assimilate him again.

"Hold on, Neelix!" she shouted to him.

* * *

Paxap's deep voice came on over the com, grabbing the attention of everyone on Voyager's Bridge. "Paxap to the fleet. Everyone, abandon your current mission and get into position for the attack run on the hub, without delay."

"What is he doing?" Chakotay said, bending closer to his tactical screen. "There are still cubes out there."

Janeway was wondering the same thing. Granted, only a handful of cubes were still intact, plus more than a few broken remnants traveling across the debris-strewn battlefield, still weaponized and looking for targets, but earlier they had agreed to eliminate all mobile threats before lowering their shields for the attack on the hub itself.

Looking at the hub, now looming up in the viewscreen, Janeway quickly saw the answer to Chakotay's question. A new cube had just emerged from one of the portals.

"They're sending reinforcements through," she murmured, her heart sinking. They had always known that was a possibility, but they had hoped that if they completed the battle within a few hours, no more cubes would have time to arrive. It looked like time had run out.

But before Voyager left, they had one last piece of unfinished business to take care of.

"Have we restored enough power for transporters?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Kim confirmed. "I'm receiving Seven's signal. Three ready to beam up."

"Lower shields and prepare to beam them aboard," Janeway said.

On the viewscreen behind the octahedron, they could see the Coalition fleet assembling in front of the hub. What was once enough ships to form 10 squadrons had now been reduced to only six, but that should be enough for what they needed. That is, unless they were decimated by the remaining cubes, which were now approaching the fleet with all possible speed. But Paxap was right; they had to destroy the hub before yet more cubes came through.

"Captain, there's a problem!" Kim said. "We have Seven and Neelix in Transporter Room 1, but the Borg are interfering with our lock on Locutus. We can't rematerialize her!"

"Keep trying, but make it quick!"

"The octahedron is powering up weapons again," Tuvok warned.

"Tom, evasive maneuvers!" Janeway barked. "Harry?"

Kim shook his head frantically. "We've lost her pattern. She's back on the Borg ship, and her pattern enhancer must have been shut down, because we can't even get a lock now."

"Captain!" Seven's voice called over the com from the Transporter Room. "Beam me back over! I can get her back!"

"Harry, can you initiate a wide-beam to the same location as before?" Janeway called.

The octahedron opened fire. Paris was flying a complex evasive pattern away from the Borg ship, while the sweat poured down his forehead, but missiles were flying past dangerously close to them.

"No good!" Kim said. "They've boosted the multi-phasic shielding around the Queen's chamber now. We're not getting through that with our transporters, coming or going."

A phaser beam raked across Voyager's hull, and Janeway hung onto a railing as the ship shuddered and groaned under her feet.

"Hull breach on Deck 8!" Tuvok called. "Captain, we must raise shields."

The com crackled to life. "Voyager, this is Paxap. We're in position to destroy the hub. You'd better get into that conduit."

"Understood. We're doing the best we can," Chakotay responded.

Janeway knew what decision she had to make, but that didn't make it easy. "Tuvok, raise shields."

"No!" Seven shouted over the com. "She is liberated now! We can't leave her!"

"Voyager, it's now or never!" Paxap shouted. "We're detecting massive tachyon surges from the hub. There must be dozens of cubes about to emerge."

"Tom, get us out of here," Janeway said. "Set course for the hub, maximum speed."

"Aye, Captain."

The octahedron clearly didn't want to let them go without a fight. It followed them with all speed, raining weapons fire down on them, and their shields were taking a beating.

"Return fire!" Janeway ordered. "Target their weapons systems."

She strode over to the helm and looked over Paris' shoulder. "Have you identified the conduit we need?"

Paris nodded toward his screen without taking his hands off the controls. "There it is, the one Axum said leads to Wolf 359."

"Shields down to 20 percent," Tuvok said.

The fleet was accelerating toward the hub in neat formations. They were nearly close enough to initiate Phase 3 of the attack run. Janeway longed to tell Paris to increase speed, but Voyager was already going flat-out.

"Chakotay to Engineering. Status of warp engines?"

"We're in good shape," came the voice of Torres. "Ready to go when you are."

"Stand by," Chakotay said.

They were just 2,000 meters from the black, branching arms of the hub. The viewscreen had already darkened to compensate for the blinding light of the pulsar behind the hub that served as a power source. Janeway could see the pulsar's light through the six-sided portal they were headed for, but there was also a slight sheen inside the portal's frame that reflected a little light. It reminded her of the plastic wands she had used as a child to blow soap bubbles.

The other half of the viewscreen was showing the aft view, and the octahedron hot on their tail. Another missile struck their aft shields.

"Direct hit. We've lost shields!" Tuvok called.

Most of the ships in the Coalition fleet were decelerating on their starboard side, while their protectors slipped into place between them and the nearest Borg cubes. They must be lowering their shields and warming up their EB cannons.

"Mr. Paris..." Janeway said.

"Almost there," he said.

The octahedron launched a series of missiles from multiple launch points. Paris dodged one, then another, but in a flash Janeway saw that he wasn't going to be able to avoid the third.

"Everybody, brace for impact!" Paris shouted. Voyager lurched into a dive so sharp that the inertial dampeners failed. Clinging desperately to a rail while crewmembers tumbled to the deck all around her, Janeway saw the pulsing white star of a torpedo heading their way. For a moment she thought it was going to sail just overhead.

But their dive was too little, too late. She heard the torpedo impact the hull overhead with a sickening crunch.

In an instant, everything went to chaos. A cold blast of air tore through the Bridge and Janeway felt her feet leave the floor. She was flung violently through the air and she felt her back strike against something hard. For a moment, she blacked out.

When she came to, she could hear muffled shouts, and the unmistakable sound of a fire extinguisher being deployed. Groggily, she opened her eyes and tried to focus. The air seemed cold and thin, and she coughed a little as she tried to take a full breath. All around her she could see fountains of white-hot sparks pouring down from overhead. She realized she was lying across the First Officer's chair. Chakotay was prone on the deck near the Science station, stirring slightly.

"Harry! Harry!" Sam Wildman was yelling from the back of the Bridge. There was another blast of a fire extinguisher. Janeway struggled to get herself upright. She could see Wildman had left her station and was standing behind Ops, now tossing aside the fire extinguisher and then bending down behind the console where Janeway couldn't see.

"Wildman to Sickbay! We have injured on the Bridge!" she shouted.

The torrent of sparks over Ops seemed to be slowing. The emergency suppression system must have finally shut off the plasma flow to the EPS conduits. Janeway looked up to see how bad the damage was, and her mouth fell open.

The ceiling across the corner of the Bridge, starting near Ops and spreading almost all the way to the Science station, was _missing_. Janeway could see the black of space through the tangle of severed wires hanging down, and the thin sparkle of the emergency forcefield which was the only thing currently holding in their atmosphere against the vacuum of space.

She staggered to her feet. She could see Paris crawling back into his chair at the helm. Chakotay was beside him, looking rumpled but unhurt. By some miracle, the viewscreen was still functioning, showing both aft and forward views.

The Queen's ship was behind them, but it was now being swarmed by Coalition ships. Janeway felt a surge of gratitude as she clung to the railing for support and made her way down to the helm. If they hadn't intervened...

"Tuvok, can you get shields back?" Janeway asked over her shoulder, and then belatedly looked back to make sure Tuvok was even there.

He was, and he appeared to be unharmed. "Stand by," he said.

"Impulse engines?" Chakotay was asking Paris. "Warp?"

"We're got them, but where do you want me to go?" Paris replied. They were currently coasting forward on momentum alone.

"Which portal is ours?" Chakotay asked.

"I don't know!" Paris said, jabbing a finger at his controls and getting nothing for his troubles. "That blast knocked us off course. We could be upside-down relative to our previous position for all I know."

"The sensors-"

"We don't _have_ any. We have nothing but visuals."

Chakotay tapped at the controls to see for himself, but Paris was right. The sensors were located on top of the Bridge, and obviously they had sustained heavy damage.

There was a flurry of activity at the back of the Bridge, and Janeway glanced back to see several crewmembers in blue carrying an unconscious Harry Kim into the turbolift, while Ensign Kyoto limped painfully behind them.

"Communications?" Janeway asked. The communications array was up there too.

"Nothing," Chakotay said.

"We'll have to eyeball it," she said. She could see the Coalition ships still on course for their attack run on the hub, and spheres of energy were just beginning to crackle between the arms of their EB cannon superstructures. They had less than a minute to decide.

Paris was intently studying the hub. "I think it must be this one or this one," he said, pointing. "Wolf 359 was one of the largest portals, and it was located about halfway along an arm of the hub."

"I think you're right," Chakotay said.

"But which one?" Janeway asked.

The two portals looked identical.

"Well..." Paris said slowly. "I did black out for a second, but if I had to guess, I don't think we would have rolled over at any point. I put Voyager into a dive, and then we got hit from behind on the apex of the ship. It would have knocked us a little downward, maybe, but it's less likely there was any movement around the longitudinal axis."

"In which case, our portal would still be to starboard," Janeway said.

"Although..." Chakotay glanced back at the hole in their ceiling, on the port side of the Bridge. "It looks like we didn't get hit dead center."

"I don't think that would make an appreciable difference, at the angle we were moving," Paris said. "I say we go to starboard."

"How certain are you about that?" Janeway asked.

"Seventy percent," Paris said, in the same moment Chakotay said, "Sixty percent."

The Coalition fleet was nearly within range, and their EB cannons looked to be fully warmed up. Janeway could only imagine that Paxap must be frantically trying to reach them, wanting to know what they were waiting for. But the coms were dead.

Janeway took a deep breath. "Set course for the starboard portal, full impulse," she told Paris.

"Yes, ma'am."

Janeway went back to her seat, brushing the ashes off as best as she could before sitting down. She looked over at Chakotay, settling down into his seat.

"If this is the wrong portal..." she said to him, low.

"I hear the Gamma Quadrant is lovely this time of year," Chakotay said.

She knew he meant her to laugh, but nothing could be less funny to her at the moment. At least Chakotay had the decency to look slightly abashed as he avoided her gaze by looking down at the console between them.

"Five seconds," Paris said.

"Captain, the octahedron has broken free from Squadron 10," Tuvok said. "It is once again pursuing us."

"Did you get shields restored?" she asked.

"To 20 percent."

"I'll take it. Initiate tachyon burst."

The hexagonal portal with its soap-bubble sheen filled their viewscreen. As their deflector dish emitted a stream of tachyons, Janeway could see a spatial distortion forming inside, looking for all the world like a whirlpool ready to suck them into the deep.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. When she opened her eyes, they were inside the conduit, sailing cleanly through its smoky blue rings.

"Mr. Paris," she said, "do it."

"Here we go," Paris said softly, and he engaged warp engines. The colored flashes of Voyager's forming warp bubble flitted past the viewscreen, and suddenly they were tearing through the smoky rings at an unimaginable speed. A low, steady rumble shook the deck beneath their boots, but their flight appeared to be stable.

Janeway stood, and came over to stand behind Paris. "Our speed?" she asked.

"The conduit is amplifying our warp speed by a factor of 40," Paris said. "Wherever we're going, we're getting there really fast."

She looked back at Chakotay, who was gazing at their passage through the conduit like a man transfixed.

"It's beautiful," he said.

The other crewmen on the Bridge - Nozawa, Baxter and Wildman - had paused in their work to watch the viewscreen. Even Tuvok seemed fascinated by the blue light flashing past them.

Then they felt it more than heard it; a subtle change in the rumbling of their passage through the conduit. An amber flash of light suddenly appeared in the distant center of the tunnel in the aft view.

"The Coalition has struck the hub," Tuvok said quietly. "The conduit is collapsing behind us."

Janeway rubbed her sweaty palms on her thighs. For good or ill, there was no going back now. She felt strangely empty. For all the effort they had poured into getting away from the Delta Quadrant, suddenly there was a part of her that was sorry they were leaving.

The turbolift door near Tuvok swished open, and Seven of Nine entered the Bridge. She paused on the upper level, gazing at their passage through the conduit.

"Captain," Tuvok said suddenly, and though he didn't raise his voice, there was something in the intensity of the word that made everyone pause in their tasks.

"There is a vessel behind us," he said.

Janeway strode over to the viewscreen, Chakotay right behind her.

"Magnify," she said.

They all looked at the close-up of the ship behind them, and Janeway felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. It was the octahedron.

"They must have followed us in just before the explosion," Chakotay said.

"It is difficult to tell without sensors," Tuvok said, "but I believe they will be within weapons range in less than a minute."

"Ideas?" Janeway said.

Paris was shaking his head. "I've got no room to maneuver," he said. "One mistake, and we could get knocked out of the conduit."

"We could send all the torpedoes we have out the aft launchers," Chakotay said. "Maybe we could knock _them_ out of the conduit instead."

"My mother is on that ship," Seven said angrily, coming down the stairs toward Janeway and Chakotay.

"We know that, Seven," Janeway said, "but unless you know how we can get her back through all that shielding, we have to defend-"

Seven marched right past Janeway, leaned across Paris' arm, and punched several commands into the helm.

"Whoa!" Paris yelled. "No no no-"

He tried to push her hand away. Without a word, Seven shoved Paris out of his seat and sent him sprawling onto the deck. In one smooth motion, she seated herself at the helm and her fingers flew over the console. Suddenly Voyager lurched to port, and the steady rumble of their passage through the conduit began to skip and jerk. The Bridge crew cried out in alarm as the inertial dampeners wobbled and everyone lost their balance.

"Seven!" Chakotay leapt forward and managed to drag her bodily out of the chair. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Paris scrambled back into his seat and took the controls back. Seven made no effort to resist as Chakotay held her arms tightly.

"Our position?" Janeway asked Paris, the fear thick in her throat.

"Still in the conduit," he said in wonderment. The smooth rumble of their passage had resumed. "Locutus' ship is gone."

"Gone?" Janeway repeated. "Gone where?"

"I don't know."

"What did you do?" Chakotay demanded of Seven.

"I initiated a tachyon burst to make it appear we were creating an exit in the conduit," Seven said. "I began to veer off, and the Queen's ship attempted to follow us, then at the last moment I resumed our original course. The Borg could not compensate in time and were knocked out of the conduit."

There was a moment's silence as her explanation sank in.

"For the love...!" Paris glared at Seven. "You could have told _me_ to do that!"

"There was no time to explain," Seven said flatly. Chakotay slowly let go of her arms.

"Oh, Seven," Janeway said gently. "Your mother..."

"I have already adapted to life without a mother," Seven said fiercely. "I no longer need her."

Somehow, Janeway did not quite believe her. She caught Chakotay's eye, and suspected he was thinking the same thing.

"Captain," Paris said weakly. "Permission to have a nervous breakdown."

* * *

Repair teams were organized, and soon teams were dispatched to Deck 8 and the Bridge to patch up Voyager's hull as best as they could from the inside. There could be no EVAs until they emerged from the transwarp conduit, and so there were also engineers working in the shuttlebay to construct new sensor and communications arrays which could be installed as soon as they arrived... at wherever it was they were going to arrive at.

For there was no way to know for certain that they had taken the correct conduit. With no sensors to confirm their location, all they could do was hope they had guessed correctly in the final moments before the Borg hub was destroyed. They could still see on the aft viewscreen the amber glare of the explosion that was collapsing the conduit behind them. There could be no turning back.

Janeway went with Seven of Nine to Astrometrics, and together they made the calculations to determine all the possible exit points if they stayed in the conduit for 12 hours, as Axum had instructed them to do. If they had taken the right conduit, they would emerge at Wolf 359. If they hadn't, depending on which direction they were going, they could end up in the center of the Gamma Quadrant, or the far end of the Beta Quadrant behind Romulan space, or perhaps worst of all, right back where they had started in Kazon territory.

Janeway forced herself not to dwell on any of these scenarios. They would find out when they found out, and she had already decided that a premature exit from the conduit was out of the question. It was a big gamble, but she was going to make it. They would stay in the conduit for the full 12 hours, and let the chips fall where they may.

"What about the octahedron?" she asked Seven. "Where would it have emerged?"

"Most likely somewhere near the center of the galaxy," Seven said. "Well beyond Coalition space."

"I assume they would simply set course for the nearest Borg facility?" Janeway asked.

"That depends on a great deal," Seven said. "If Locutus was destroyed, or if the drones onboard successfully re-implanted a neural transceiver into her, then the Borg Queen would once again be in control. The ship would go wherever she directed it."

"Or?" Janeway asked.

Seven gazed up at the galactic quadrant map and took a deep breath. "Or, if Locutus - my mother - remains liberated, then she may have taken the drones on the octahedron under her own control. She would then be free to do whatever she wished with them."

"A rogue Queen," Janeway said softly.

"Yes." Seven's expression was somber. "It was her idea to permit new drones a small measure of individuality. If she decides to follow through on her plans..."

"...she could start a rival Collective," Janeway murmured.

* * *

"Are we on our way home, Captain?"

Harry Kim had a hopeful smile on his face as he lay on the biobed in the surgical bay, looking up at Janeway.

A blanket had been drawn up across his chest, but she could see that one shoulder, arm, and the left side of his face were visibly damaged, the skin pink and peeling. He had been badly burned by plasma when the Queen's ship had blown a hole in the Bridge just above his station, but the dermaline gel was doing its work and the Doctor had assured Janeway that Kim would make a full recovery in time.

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Kim," Janeway said, bending over him. "We'll be in the transwarp conduit for another 9 hours. Then we'll see what there is to see."

"I intend to be out of this bed and back on duty by then," Kim said.

Janeway looked at the Doctor questioningly.

"Perhaps," he said, shooting Janeway a look that clearly indicated "probably not," and he activated a dermal regenerator.

"What is Mr. Neelix's condition?" Janeway asked, glancing over at the Talaxian in question. Neelix was sitting up on a biobed, with his Borg paraphernalia and makeup already removed, cheerfully chatting with Marla Gilmore, who had an ankle encased in an osteogenic stimulator.

The Doctor smiled broadly. "I'm pleased to report that my modifications to Dr. Rilir's work were a resounding success. Mr. Neelix was assimilated twice, but his nanites put up a good fight, and he's none the worse for wear. I've kept him here for observation only."

"You didn't need to use the 8472 genetic material you modified to dissolve nanoprobes?"

"Thankfully, no," the Doctor said. "It's a risky procedure, and an untested one at that, and I never intended to use it unless it became absolutely necessary. The nanites are working fine."

He bustled over to a medicine cabinet, loaded a hypospray, and then, to Janeway's surprise, handed it to her.

She glanced over at Kim uncertainly. "You want me to inject it?"

"It's for you," the Doctor said. "A mild sedative. I assume you'll have trouble getting to sleep without it."

Janeway didn't bother to hide her exasperation. "I see Commander Chakotay already got to you," she said. "I have no intention of going to sleep."

"Commander Chakotay told me our course is stable and there are no other ships in the conduit with us. It will be hours before we emerge. Repairs are going well and there's no reason why you can't get some rest now."

"I would much rather stay on the Bridge. I can't possibly sleep, I'm all pumped up on adrenaline and caffeine-"

"Thus, the sedative," the Doctor said patiently. "Whatever we face when we emerge from the conduit, we should have a well-rested captain on the Bridge."

She opened her mouth to object further. "But-"

"Sweet dreams, Captain," the Doctor said pleasantly, and he walked away.

She pressed her lips together, annoyed. Clearly the Doctor had been emboldened by Chakotay - it wasn't the first time - and he had planned his ambush well. There was Kim listening to the whole exchange, and if she defied doctor's orders now, there would be no stopping Kim from following her example and going up to the Bridge before the Doctor had cleared him.

She was tempted to do it anyway, but as always, she was forcibly reminded of that time during the year of hell when she had blown off a chance to get a good night's rest and as a result ended up collapsing from exhaustion while on duty. Chakotay had been furious, and Janeway had been mortified. She had learned her lesson then, however reluctantly: she simply could not do it all, no matter how much she wanted to, and it was pointless to try. The Doctor was right. There was no reason why she couldn't get a little rest now, as strange as it felt to be going to bed while Voyager was zipping through a Borg conduit to who-knows-where. She would need full use of her faculties when they emerged.

She heaved a sigh and left Sickbay for her quarters, hypospray in hand.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think will happen next? Reviews are welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _Captain's log, stardate 54363.9_

 _After 12 hours in the transwarp conduit, we have emerged into normal space. There are no ships or planetary systems within visual range, so we've opted to hold our location and work on installing our new sensor and communication arrays as quickly as possible._

 _In all the time we've spent in the Delta Quadrant, we've never once been lost. We always knew exactly where we were: far from home. It's a strange feeling not to know even that much now._

* * *

Janeway emerged onto the Bridge from her Ready Room. Chakotay was standing back at Ops, where the console damaged by the Borg vessel's parting shot had already been replaced with a new one, although there were still streaks of solidified slag splattering the wall behind him where hot plasma had melted through the titanium.

On the viewscreen, three crewmembers in environmental suits could be seen floating near the apex of Voyager's hull, manipulating components of the sensor array carefully into place.

Janeway glanced up at the sheet of titanium that had been bolted over the hole in the ceiling of the Bridge. In their haste to enact repairs, they hadn't bothered with aesthetics, and as a result the top of the Bridge looked rather rakish. Normally she would have been embarrassed by this, but right now all she cared about was getting information. At least there was more than a forcefield holding in their atmosphere now.

She joined Chakotay at Ops. Megan Delaney's voice was coming over the line. At least Janeway thought it was Megan. Her voice was a little softer than her twin's, but the echoing distortion from the environmental suit helmets made it tricky to distinguish voices.

"Maglock 7 in place... now."

Above their heads, Janeway and Chakotay heard the distinctive clang of an EPS conduit locking into place. On the console, another display lit up.

Seven's voice responded. "Acknowledged. What is the status of Maglock 8?"

"Almost there," came Jenny Delaney's voice. On the viewscreen, they could see her bulky suited form launching gently off a strut, cable in hand, and soft-landing on the hull. A few seconds later they heard another clang overhead.

"Maglock 8 in place," Jenny reported.

Seven spoke up. "Commander, are we clear to connect the gelpacks?"

Chakotay hit the comm control. "Affirmative. All eight maglocks confirmed."

"Proceeding now."

"How long before we have telemetry?" Janeway asked Chakotay.

"Soon. They just need to connect a few more cables, and then Icheb will get started on the scans. Maybe 15 minutes."

She blew out a long sigh. "Then this is it."

"The moment of truth," Chakotay agreed.

She locked eyes with him, and suddenly the bustle and noise of the Bridge seemed to fade, as though they were on an island with nothing but faintly hissing water all about them. "Chakotay... as much as I would enjoy exploring the Gamma Quadrant with you..."

"Oh, I don't think the gods would be that cruel," he said easily.

"Want to run down to your quarters and say a quick prayer for us, just in case?"

Chakotay smiled slightly. "I already did. While you were sleeping. I even offered up my firstborn son in exchange for landing us in the Alpha Quadrant. If that doesn't please my ancestors, I don't know what will."

"You don't _have_ a firstborn son," she pointed out.

"Well, it could still happen. Rumplestiltskin bargained for a yet-to-be-born child. And my ancestors are a little kinder than him."

He spoke lightly, as if it were only a joke, and yet he was so calm, so self-assured, that she knew he really _did_ believe his ancestors had some say in the matter. And although she lacked faith in the supernatural powers of people she had never met who had died long ago, her faith in Chakotay ran so deep that for a moment she, too, was certain that all would be well.

And she wondered, is my faith in Chakotay, a living man full of flaws and contradictions, any more rational than his faith in his father's spirit, which he believes has reached enlightenment in death?

Her fingers tapped out a nervous beat on her thigh as she looked over the Ops readouts. She regretted having that last cup of coffee. She was agitated enough as it was. Fifteen minutes... there was no way she could stand here for 15 minutes doing nothing but wait for the EV team to finish up.

"I'm going to go down to Astrometrics and check on Icheb's progress," she said.

Chakotay didn't look up from the console, but he smiled slightly. "Why, does Icheb work better if you breathe down his neck?"

"Would you work better if I stayed here to breathe down _your_ neck?" she shot back.

Chakotay considered this for a moment. "Say hi to Icheb for me."

"That's what I thought."

"And Kathryn?"

She paused at the door of the turbolift.

"No peeking at our position without me."

She smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

When she arrived, Icheb was alone in Astrometrics, busy testing the computer interface to make sure it fully aligned with the new sensor array.

"Captain," he said seriously, nodding to her. "Can I help you?"

She held up a hand. "Don't let me interrupt, Cadet. How's it coming?"

"All the new equipment checks out, Captain," he said. "Seven and the Delaneys are returning to the airlock now. I'm ready to begin scanning."

She nodded. "Go ahead."

Icheb started the scan. Janeway watched as, sliver by sliver, the image of the space surrounding them began to appear on the large screen. She paced back and forth behind Icheb, rubbing her hands together, and waited in an agony of uncertainty. She glanced at the screen often, but she didn't recognize anything she saw, although there wasn't much data there yet. Suddenly she wished she had told Icheb to let her do the scan herself. At least then her hands could be busy. She forced herself to stop pacing.

"Icheb, do me a favor," she said. "Just let me know when the scan is complete." She deliberately turned her back to the screen and hitched a leg up to perch on the edge of the platform. The full scan would take several minutes to complete, and she couldn't watch as it came in bit by bit. She just couldn't.

The wait seemed interminable. The only sounds were the gentle beeps of Icheb's console as he confirmed every vector of the scan and made sure each imaging slice was pieced together in order. Janeway could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest, unnaturally loud, and wondered if Icheb could hear it as well. He looked a little flushed with excitement himself, and she wondered at that. It wasn't Icheb's home they were looking for. Almost immediately she corrected herself. Icheb may have never been to Earth, but it was his home, too. His future home. The results of the scan would impact him just as much as it would everyone else on board.

"Scan complete," Icheb said. "Checking against our stellar charts." There was a short pause, and then he said the words Janeway had been hoping and praying for:

"Captain, there's a match."

So they were in charted space. The relief Janeway felt was intense, and suddenly she realized that what she had been dreading the most all along was ending up in the Gamma Quadrant. Wherever they were, at least they would have some idea of what to expect.

"I'll overlay the sensor scan results with our star charts," Icheb said.

"Wait!" she said quickly. She felt almost sick with anticipation, and it was oh-so-tempting to take a look first so that she would know whether to prepare the crew for disappointment, but she sensed that Chakotay was right: this had to be done the proper way. Together.

"Get ready to send that visual up to the Bridge viewscreen, Cadet, but not just yet," she said. After a few moments of reflection, she added: "In fact, prepare to send that visual to every screen on the ship, and then wait for my signal. No peeking. Understood?"

Icheb looked every bit as impatient as she felt, but he slowly nodded. "Yes, Captain."

She could not stop herself from jogging to the turbolift. She had to work out this nervous energy somehow. Her mind was a jumble, but thank goodness, she didn't need to prepare a speech. She would never admit it to anyone, but she had long ago memorized the words she wanted to say on this occasion... just in case.

The turbolift ride seemed to take only an instant, and then she was striding out onto the Bridge.

"Captain on the Bridge," Tuvok said crisply.

The quiet chatter on the Bridge suddenly went silent. Everyone looked up from their consoles. Tom Paris swiveled around in the helm to face her. Billy Telfer was staring up from where he knelt on the deck, frozen in the act of pulling one of Jenny Delaney's magnetic boots off. Impatiently Jenny reached down and tugged the boot off herself, and then fixed her eyes on Janeway as well. Megan was already divested of her EV suit, but Seven still wore hers minus the helmet where she stood at the center console, looking sweaty and uncomfortable and more than a little uncertain about the sudden tension in the room.

She could see that all the crewmembers were trying to read her expression: was it good news? Or bad? She hoped she had her poker face firmly in place, but she was by no means certain that she did.

Many eyes followed her as she stepped down to the command level of the Bridge. Without waiting to be told, Chakotay left Ops and came down to stand by her side.

"I would like to make a ship-wide announcement," she told him, and he nodded and quickly leaned over to tap the command into his console.

"You're on," he said quietly.

"Could I have everyone's attention please," she said, and she knew her words were being transmitted to every room of every deck, within the hearing of all 161 crewmembers of the U.S.S. Voyager. "As I'm sure you're all aware, we have just finished repairing our sensor array and we now have a fix on our current location. We're all going to take a look at it in just a few moments, but first I would like to say a few words."

She slowly paced the length of the Bridge.

"We've spent the last eight years alone in an uncharted part of the galaxy," Janeway said. "We've made a lot of friends, and some enemies as well. We've seen a lot of incredible things, and we've frequently accomplished the impossible. We have blended three different crews and learned to work together in harmony." She put her hand on Chakotay's shoulder. "We have stayed true to our directive to seek out new worlds and explore space."

She paused a moment. "We've said goodbye to some of our own in that time."

It seemed for a moment as though she could feel them standing there invisible on the Bridge, the ones who had lost their lives on the journey. Cavit and Stadi. Ballard and Hogan. Darwin and Suder. Janeway saw Seven bow her head slightly and wondered if she was thinking of One.

"-and we've welcomed a few new crewmembers on board as well," Janeway added.

As if on cue, Neelix came onto the Bridge at that moment, holding hands with Naomi. Janeway smiled briefly at them as they tiptoed over to stand by Sam Wildman at the Science Station.

"We've found corridors and catapults, transwarp coils and conduits, slipstreams and subspace vortexes," she continued. "We made far more progress in these eight years than I ever allowed myself to hope for. Each person on this crew has given their best, and I couldn't be more proud of you."

She took a deep breath. "I know what you're all hoping will happen next, and I'm hoping for the same thing. But I want you all to know that-" Her voice nearly faltered. "-no matter where we are or how long it will be before we get back home..."

She had to swallow hard.

"This crew will always be a family," she finished, and her voice was fierce with conviction. "Nothing can change that."

She gestured to Chakotay to cut the com. As soon as he had, she tapped her combadge.

"Janeway to Icheb. Do you have everything ready?"

"Yes, captain. Ready when you are."

She nodded, and set her jaw. "Do it."

Janeway turned around and looked at the viewscreen just as it was activated. A small image of Voyager was placed in the center, surrounded by stars.

She felt, more than saw, Chakotay move to her side, and his warm hand closed around her cold one. She met his eyes briefly. He gave her what was meant to be an encouraging hint of a smile, but he looked as apprehensive as she felt. As one, they turned and looked at the viewscreen.

Little labels - names for the star systems - were popping up all over the screen as Icheb overlaid his sensor scan results with the star chart they had in their database. Everyone on the Bridge moved forward and strained their eyes to see. There was a long, tense silence as their eyes darted rapidly around, reading the labels.

Over the soft beeps of the Bridge equipment and the quiet thrum of the distant warp core, she heard several gasps, and a muffled exclamation from someone at the back of the Bridge. Chakotay's hand tightened on hers like a vice.

Janeway's lips parted slightly as she stared at what was on the viewscreen. Suddenly it felt like her head was disconnected from her body. She felt herself sway on her feet, and she was very glad that she had Chakotay to hold onto.

"I don't believe it," Paris murmured. He jumped up from his seat, went around his console and strode right up to the viewscreen.

Slowly he reached up to touch the image of Voyager, then let his fingers slide down a short distance to a nearby star.

 _Sol._

"I don't believe it!" Paris blurted out again. He looked over his shoulder at them in amazement, and they stared back at him. It seemed as though Paris were the only one not rooted to the deck. Suddenly, he laughed.

"You should see all your faces!" he said, and he laughed again in delight. "Oh, I wish I had a holocam!"

Someone in the back of the Bridge started crying. Janeway wrenched her gaze from the star chart and looked up at Chakotay. His dark eyes were fixed on the viewscreen, and he looked as though he were a thousand lightyears away.

Janeway pulled her hand out of his. He didn't even seem to notice. Moving as though in a dream, she went down the last few steps of the Bridge and around the helm to join Paris by the viewscreen. Hesitantly, she reached up to touch the same star that he had. There her hand stayed, with the letters of its planets gleaming between her fingers.

She looked back at everyone on the Bridge. No one seemed to be paying much attention to her. Tuvok had his eyes on the star chart, with a muscle in his jaw twitching. Billy Telfer had his arms around Megan Delaney, who was sobbing without restraint. Sam Wildman looked as though she were in shock. Naomi had both arms around her mother, her face pressed against her uniform. Chakotay was looking up at the ceiling and mouthing something silently. It looked like "Thank you."

Then they all heard it on the Bridge, coming up from beneath their feet through the deckplates, where the Mess Hall was located on Deck 2 just below them: a long, drawn out "Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" This was followed by a muffled ululation peculiar to the Bolian species. Somebody on the Bridge snickered. "Chell's happy to be home," they muttered.

A rising murmur of noise swept over the Bridge. People were talking, people were hugging, people were crying. Most were doing all three at once.

Janeway turned her eyes back to Paris, and he grinned at her openly, blue eyes sparkling. "I don't believe it!" he said, but this time his tone belied his words.

Somehow, Janeway found her voice. "I don't either," she said.

She pulled her tricorder out and scanned the screen in front of her. She frowned when she saw the results, and slowly walked away from the viewscreen, scanning first the curved bulkhead and then the helm station.

"Captain?" Paris said.

"No holotechnology," she murmured. "Maybe particle synthesis..."

"Particle synthesis?" he repeated blankly. He followed her back over to the helm.

"Could be," Janeway said. "Although I'm not seeing anything unusual on the quantum level. I wonder-" Suddenly another idea popped into her head. "Tom, scan for a neurogenic field."

"A neurogenic field?" Despite his confusion, he bent to obey. "Are we looking for telepaths?"

"Remember that pitcher plant in space?" Janeway said, looking over his shoulder. "That massive bioplasmic organism that created illusions in our minds to lure us into its belly?"

Paris looked up from his scan, and laughed impudently. "Captain, this isn't an illusion."

She was unamused. "Humor me."

Paris shrugged one shoulder, and completed the scan.

"No evidence of neurogenic fields, Captain."

Janeway stared at the results, tapping a finger against her thigh.

She looked up and called out: "Q! Is that you?"

Nothing happened.

"Have you seen Q lately?" she demanded of Chakotay. He started as though he had been awoken from a deep sleep.

"What?" he said.

She repeated it slowly, patiently. "Q. Have you seen him?"

"Which one?" Chakotay asked.

"Either one."

"No. Why?"

Janeway turned to find Neelix at her elbow. "Captain!" he squealed breathlessly. "You did it!" He clasped his hands together in ecstasy, and then he grabbed her hand and wrung it in a heartfelt handshake. "You actually did it! I can't believe it! Would you look at that! There it is, plain as day! Sol! Earth! Everything! Wow! Just..." He groped for words. "Wow!"

Janeway pulled her hand away from Neelix impatiently, and spoke into thin air.

"I'm not amused!" she called out. "Whatever you're up to, why don't you just come out and talk to me for once instead of playing these silly games? Q!"

"Q?" Neelix repeated, looking around in alarm. "What's he doing here?"

"He isn't here," Paris said.

"That we know of," Janeway said grimly. "Unfortunately, the tricorder's no good scanning for that."

Neelix looked concerned. "Do we have reason to believe Q is here?"

"None," Paris said.

"Ah." Neelix relaxed.

"Cloaked ships," Janeway said suddenly. "We should scan for cloaked ships."

She moved purposely toward the console, but Neelix was standing in her way.

"Neelix," she said impatiently, waving him aside, but Neelix didn't budge. He was still staring at the screen.

"What is all that purple stuff around us?" he asked.

"It marks Federation territory," Chakotay said.

"Oh wow, it looks even larger in real life!" Neelix enthused. He trotted up the ramp and stood in front of the chart, spreading his arms widely as though he intended to hug the screen. "I can't wait to see it all! Look, there's Risa! And Vulcan!" Neelix shot a look of delight back at Tuvok. "There's home, Mr. Vulcan! So close you can practically taste it! Are you happy now? Come on, admit it! You are happy!"

Tuvok's voice was dry. "If you insist." Was it Janeway's imagination, or were the corners of his mouth actually curled up ever so slightly?

Neelix chortled in triumph. "I knew it! I just knew it! Now, don't be ashamed, we all feel the same way! And how far is it...?" His finger traced a line between Voyager and Earth.

"About 30 lightyears," Paris said promptly. "It looks like we pulled out of the conduit a little too soon. We didn't quite make it to Wolf 359, but even so, we could be orbiting Earth within the week, if we put the pedal to the metal. Hey, Captain, can we use maximum warp? I think this constitutes an emergency, don't you?"

Janeway had taken advantage the moment Neelix had moved away from the helm, and was now running a multiphasic sweep. No cloaked ships were revealed. This was getting frustrating. What else could it be?

"A mind meld," she muttered, remembering Teero's manipulation of Tuvok. She stood, and moved back up to the command level. "Chakotay... or Neelix... someone... go get a medical tricorder. We should check for signs that any of us have been subjected to a forceable mind meld."

They didn't appear to have heard her.

"Oh, I can't _wait_ to lay my hands on a Mustang convertible reproduction and zip down Route 66 at 90 miles an hour!" Paris was crowing. "I've been dreaming of it for years, ever since I drove one of those babies on the holodeck!"

"The world boxing championships are in two months," Chakotay was telling Neelix. "I wonder if I could manage to get tickets. They always go quickly..."

"We'll be celebrities! Heroes!" Neelix assured him. "Why, I bet they'll give us anything we ask for!"

Neelix looked back at Janeway, who was in the act of rummaging through a medkit to get the medical tricorder herself, and chuckled with delight. "Just think, Captain! You'll be home by your birthday now, won't you? You can finally have your mother's famous caramel brownies again! And you'll have to introduce me so I can get the recipe from her. I know my attempts to make them never, ah, quite measured up. I guess there's nothing like a mother's cooking, is there, Captain?"

Stunned into motionlessness by Neelix's words, she couldn't answer.

"Captain?" Neelix said.

Chakotay and Paris were both looking at her with their smiles fading slightly.

The medkit fell from her numb fingers, and hyposprays bounced across the deck. Janeway grabbed onto the railing with a white-knuckled grip as a wave of dizziness threatened to swamp her.

"I... don't... feel so good," she said thickly.

Her vision was going gray at the edges, and she felt strangely hot, and sick to her stomach, all at once. Desperately she held on to the railing, but she could feel herself slumping over it.

Reality faded in and out and then back in. The next thing she knew, she felt Neelix's strong hands gripping her arms, and she heard Paris saying anxiously, as though from a great distance: "Sit her down, sit her down. Right there. That's it."

An indeterminate length of time passed. Her tunnel vision widened somewhat, and she realized she was sitting on the captain's chair, hunched over with her head in her hands. Chakotay was crouching down beside her, looking concerned. Neelix was fanning air toward her with a PADD, and Paris was scanning her with the medical tricorder.

"We should call the Doctor," Neelix said.

"No, no, don't call the Doctor," Paris said quickly. "She's fine. Just give her a minute. She needs to let it sink in."

"Chakotay," Janeway said faintly, forcing the words out. "Where are we?"

His brown eyes were gentle. "We're 31 lightyears from Earth," he said.

She took a deep breath and let it out. "That's what I thought," she said.

And then, with no warning whatsoever, the dam burst. Janeway found herself in the bizarre position of sitting on her own Bridge, in her own captain's chair, at the moment of her greatest victory, with absolutely no control over the short, bitter sobs suddenly burning her throat and wracking her shoulders. To her horror, this was rapidly followed by two hot tears sliding down her cheeks, and although she hated for anyone to see them, she couldn't stop them. She almost didn't want to. So many years of toil and fear and sacrifice. So many hours of hopelessness. Hadn't she earned this? After so many heroic declarations that she was fine, that she was strong enough, that she could carry all her own burdens and everyone else's too... didn't she deserve to have a lapse, if only for a moment, now that they were home?

"There, there." Neelix's voice was very close, and she felt a warm hand patting her shoulder. "Poor thing. You've had a rough time of it, haven't you, Captain? But it's over now. It's all over. Shh-hh-hh."

Chakotay's hand was warm on her other shoulder, but he didn't say a word. He had more sense than Neelix, who clearly didn't understand that the more he comforted her, the harder it was to regain some semblance of emotional control.

For Janeway's mind was flying in a million directions. She couldn't seem to focus on any one thought. One moment she wondered where she would even start when she called Starfleet Command, and the next she realized with dismay that Paxap and Ip and the rest of the Coalition were tens of thousands of lightyears away and she had not given them a proper goodbye - or a proper thank-you - and now she would never see them again, and then she remembered there was still a problem with the power grid on Deck 12, and with Chakotay busy overseeing the EVA she had forgotten to tell Tuvok to send someone to keep an eye on that.

For some reason that last thought sobered her up right away. Work. That had always been her bulwark. She clung to it now. There was a lot to be done and she couldn't afford to sit here and have a breakdown. She took several steady breaths, as Tuvok often advised her to do, and felt her self-control begin to return.

"I just thought of something," Neelix said brightly. "We should have communications restored now, too. You can call your mother, Captain! Won't that make you feel better?"

"Neelix, stop talking about my mother," she pleaded, scrubbing at her face. "It only makes it worse."

"I'm sorry, Captain. Uh... how can I help?"

"Coffee," she said hoarsely. "I need coffee."

"Aye aye, Captain," Neelix said. He bustled away and disappeared into the Ready Room.

Janeway glanced around the Bridge. Almost everyone was gathered by the viewscreen now, looking at the drastically shortened journey home now charted there, laughing and chatting animatedly. She imagined a similar scene in every department on the ship was taking place right now. Only Tuvok was still standing at his station. He had his eyes closed and his hands carefully folded into a meditation pose.

Chakotay touched her shoulder. "Captain, I'd like to recommend that we make a shipwide announcement. Give the crew permission to leave their stations for a little while and let them have their celebration. I have a feeling they're going to have it anyway, so we better make it our idea... or the Brig will get full rather quickly." His dimples popped out as he spoke.

She smiled slightly. "Very well. Fifteen minutes only. And Commander?"

He looked at her questioningly.

"Please remind them that we're back to answering to a higher authority, so make sure they don't do anything to damage the ship... or their crewmates... in all the excitement."

"Aye, Captain." He turned away to make the announcement.

Neelix was back with a steaming mug in his hands. Janeway accepted it, cradled the warmth in her fingers, inhaled the familiar rich scent, closed her eyes and took a long sip. Instantly she could feel the tight knot in her stomach begin to loosen.

"Better?" Neelix asked, looking at her knowingly.

"Much."

Neelix wandered off to join the others celebrating on the Bridge. Janeway happened to catch Chakotay's eye as he finished making the announcement, and suddenly she thought of something she wanted more than coffee. She set down the cup, held out her hands, and Chakotay helped pulled her to her feet. Without a word, she threw both arms around his neck and held him tightly.

He chuckled softly into her ear, and held her just as tightly.

"Congratulations, Kathryn," he said. "You've accomplished the impossible."

" _We've_ accomplished the impossible," she corrected him, and she laughed in exhilaration. "A 75,000-lightyear journey in eight years! If only we had known that going in! It would have spared us so much worry."

Chakotay pulled back and grinned at her. "You mean you might have actually enjoyed it?"

"But I _did_ enjoy it," she said frankly. "Most of it. There were days... but I'm not sorry it happened, any of it."

Chakotay rested his forehead against hers. "Neither am I."

"All right, all right, all right," she heard Paris saying next to them. "Break it up, you two. Give someone else a chance."

Reluctantly Chakotay released his grip on her, and Paris insinuated himself in front of Janeway and gave her a big hug, too, briefly lifting her up off her toes.

"Well, that was the most exciting mission I've ever been on, Captain," Paris said breezily, putting her down and holding her out at arms' length. "Much better than slouching around New Zealand fixing engines. Thanks for everything. Let's do this again in a few years."

"Oh, I don't know about _that_ ," Janeway said, wide-eyed, and Paris laughed.

Paris released her and looked at Chakotay, and for one bizarre moment Janeway thought they were going to hug, too.

They settled for an energetic handshake, just as Harry Kim exploded onto the Bridge. The Doctor was hot on his heels, and a crowd of other excited crewmembers flooded onto the Bridge behind him. Kim's skin was still pink and peeling from his burns, but he was mostly in uniform, with his gray shirt untucked, just one arm thrust into his uniform jacket, and his feet completely bare.

"Mr. Kim, if you won't stay in Sickbay, at least put on your shoes!" the Doctor snapped, coming behind him with a pair of boots in one hand and a holocamera in the other. "I will not be responsible for any workplace injury that may occur-"

Kim stopped at the top of the Bridge, pointed his finger dramatically at Paris, and said very loudly and distinctly: "I. Told. You. So!"

"A lucky guess!" Paris shot back contemptuously.

"Oh, no. No, no, no!" Kim came down the steps, pausing to exclaim in pain as he stubbed his toe, but he pressed on valiantly and hobbled over to Paris. "No, you do not get to take this away from me! I have been telling you for years and years... all of you..." He gestured wildly at everyone on the Bridge. "-that we would make it back home! And everyone said I was crazy, I was a naive optimist, it was just wishful thinking, 'Shut up about it already, Harry' ... well, this time I was _right_ , and for once you will admit it!" He shoved his other arm into his jacket forcefully.

"We haven't made it home yet," Paris said.

"And whose fault is that? If you had just kept your finger on the button for a few more seconds, we could have been coasting into orbit right now!"

"Well, excuse me for not knowing where in the galaxy we were!" Paris shot back. "Fat lot of help you were, Buster, lying around Sickbay taking naps, with all the sensors offline!"

"Everyone, say cheese!" the Doctor said, and Paris and Kim dropped the argument long enough to put their arms around each other and beam for the holocam.

"Captain," Kim said, coming over to give her a brief hug. "Thanks for everything. You're the best captain I ever had."

"I'm the only captain you've ever had, Mr. Kim," she reminded him.

"Well, even so."

"Hey Captain, can we replicate some champagne to pass around?" Paris asked, and several crewmen around him cheered. "And some confetti?"

"On my Bridge?" she said, her voice rising. "Absolutely not!"

"It would look nice for the photos," the Doctor put in.

"We did it for the slipstream drive," Paris argued.

"Not on the Bridge, we didn't!" she exclaimed. "Don't you dare, Mr. Paris."

The turbolifts kept depositing more and more people on the Bridge. Janeway even saw a few people emerging from Jeffries tubes, cleverly avoiding the bottlenecks that must be forming at every turbolift stop. Crewmembers were crying, crewmembers were laughing, a few were whooping and hollering. The noise was rising to a fever pitch. Naomi Wildman was sitting at her mother's place at the Science Station with both hands clapped over her ears, while Samantha herself was standing there with hand over mouth and tears streaming silently down her face. People were spilling into the conference room to make way for the continual flow of new arrivals.

Janeway managed to fight her way through the crowd up to Tactical. Tuvok was standing there quietly, eyes closed, both hands resting motionless on the edge of his console. Janeway reached out and put one hand softly on his arm, and Tuvok's eyes opened. He gazed at her steadily with his dark eyes.

"Captain," he said quietly. "You kept your promise to me."

She smiled tenderly at her old friend. "Not quite. I won't rest until I see you in the same room as your family. You won't have long to wait now."

"Thank you."

She paused a moment. "Would it be all right... if I...?" She held out her arms questioningly.

"Very well."

She folded Tuvok into her arms. It was like hugging a board at first, with Tuvok maintaining his ramrod-straight posture, but he did put his arms around her, too, and tolerated the hug for a surprising length of time.

Over Tuvok's shoulder, Janeway could see Chell and Biddle were swaying arm in arm by the Engineering station, singing some sappy song at the top of their lungs: "It's been a lo-oong roooooad, getting from there to heeeeeere..." Meanwhile, Janeway was getting so many pats on the back and "Thank you, Captain"s thrown her way that she couldn't always keep track of who they were coming from.

Chakotay was talking animatedly with Ayala. The Doctor was snapping holophotos left and right. Janeway noticed Pablo Baytart and Jenny Delaney were locked in a kiss in front of the door to the Ready Room, and she raised her eyebrows. She hadn't even heard they were dating. Maybe they _weren't_. Emotions were running so high around here at the moment, anything could happen.

Just then the turbolift deposited a load of Engineering crew onto the Bridge... B'Elanna Torres among them.

"Captain!" she burst out, and Janeway let go of Tuvok to share an awkward hug over Torres' belly. "I can't believe it! We did it!"

"I guess you'll be having an Alpha Quadrant baby after all," Janeway said, patting her shoulder.

"I'm almost disappointed!" Torres was laughing tearfully. "We set up the crib for nothing! I wish- Ow, ow, ow!" She suddenly hunched over, clinging to the railing with white knuckles.

"Baby kicking again?" Janeway said sympathetically.

"No, it's false labor... this time," Torres said, grimacing. "Been feeling it... for days. Shouldn't have... run here so fast." She took a deep breath. "Ghay'cha! I wish I could be _done_ with this already!" She wrenched her hands off the rails, scowling angrily.

"Hey, B'eh, quit shouting and get over here!" Paris called, and Janeway quickly stepped aside and let Torres run into his arms.

Janeway caught sight of Neelix, now standing back from the crowd of laughing crewmembers. To her surprise, his smile had faded and his eyes were suspiciously wet.

She made her way over to him. "Neelix?" she asked.

"Oh, Captain, I beg your pardon," he said briskly, giving a shaky laugh and blinking back the tears. "I'm so happy we made it, but... I was just thinking... Talax is awfully far away now, isn't it?"

Janeway put her arm around Neelix's shoulders. "I suppose it is," she said gently.

"Don't get me wrong, Captain," Neelix said quickly. "I'm not sorry I came. I knew I would never see my homeworld again the day Kes sent us so far, all the way across Borg space. There was no going back then." He tried to smile. "I guess I'm the only Talaxian in the whole quadrant now. I imagine I'll be very much in demand, and Icheb too, of course. The only Delta Quadrant natives in the sector. Everyone will want to meet us."

"I'm sure they will," Janeway smiled. "Now you'll be more of an ambassador than ever."

Seven of Nine, still dressed in her environmental suit minus the helmet, was ignoring the chaos around her and concentrating on the center console at the top of the Bridge, only tearing her eyes away from the display long enough to glare at the people who kept bumping into her. Janeway felt a surge of exasperation - couldn't she join the celebration and at least _pretend_ to be pleased for a few minutes? - but she felt bad, too. Seven must be the only person on the ship not doing internal backflips at the news. She could only imagine how isolated Seven must feel at this moment.

Kim was babbling excitedly to anyone who would listen. "Guess what? I actually composed a song for our homecoming! Maybe they'll ask me to play it at our reception. Except it's for a full orchestra, so I guess they'll need time to rehearse it..."

"You composed a whole song while you were in Sickbay this morning?" Torres asked in disbelief.

Kim gave her a strange look. "Of course not! I started it our first year in the Delta Quadrant."

"You're joking," Paris said.

Kim looked defensive. "What? I knew we'd make it back eventually."

Janeway felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see the Doctor standing there.

"Captain, I'm very grateful to you for getting us home," the Doctor said, shaking her hand warmly. "But I'm very concerned, as well," he added, a frown creasing his brow. "What will Starfleet Command say when they find out about my mobile emitter? I'm worried they might take it away to study it, or invoke the Temporal Prime Directive to force me to stop using it, or-"

"Doctor, I'm not going to let anyone take your mobile emitter," she interrupted.

"Well, I certainly hope not, because I would be crippled without it. I want to see Earth!"

"You will," she assured him.

She strained to see the nearest console through the press of bodies, and ascertained that the 15 minutes were nearly up.

"Mr. Paris!" Janeway could hardly make herself heard across the Bridge over the din. "Lay in a course-"

"What?" Paris yelled back.

She spoke from the diaphragm, just like they'd taught in Command School. "Lay in a course for-"

 _"What?"_

Janeway threw up her hands in exasperation. The Doctor helpfully put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled deafeningly, just as Paris yelled, "Shut up already, would you!" at the revelers nearest to him.

The noise settled down to a dull roar.

Janeway took a deep breath. "Mr. Paris, set a course... for home."

Paris grinned. "Aye, aye, Captain." He nudged a few people away from the helm and tapped at his controls with a big flourish.

"Course laid in," he said.

"Hold that thought, Tom. Commander Chakotay, clear the Bridge. We're going to need a little peace and quiet for this next part."

Chakotay began ushering all the extra crewmen to the nearest exits. It took a few minutes, but finally the Bridge was much quieter and manned by the usual number of crewmembers.

"Mr. Kim?" Janeway said. "Open a channel to Starfleet Command."

Kim smiled broadly. He was back at Ops with his uniform on correctly at last. "Hope I remember how to do that," he quipped as he bent over his console. "It's been a while." He tapped at the controls, and then there was a long pause. Janeway tried not to fidget. She knew she was being impatient, but this close to Earth, the response from Starfleet should be prompt.

But a full minute passed, and the Ops console failed to beep with an incoming transmission.

"They probably won't answer right away," Chakotay said quietly, guessing her thoughts. "They'll be trying to figure out how a missing ship is sending them a signal."

Janeway nodded and smiled a little, just imagining the confusion of whoever was at the other end.

"Actually, it looks like our signal didn't go through at all," Kim said slowly.

"Don't tell me you really _did_ forget how to hail them?" Janeway said.

Kim raised both eyebrows. "I think I did it right. Let me try..." His voice trailed off as he tapped in several more commands. He looked at the results, and then leaned back in surprise.

"Captain," Kim said, looking up at her seriously. "Subspace communications appear to have been jammed."

Janeway felt her smile fade a little. "Jammed? By what?"

"I'm trying to trace it." There was a short pause, and then Kim shook his head. "The signal's source has been masked somehow. I've never seen anything quite like-"

"I have," Seven of Nine interrupted, looking at her own console intently. "It is an encryption code sometimes used by the Borg."

"The Borg?" Chakotay jumped to his feet and came to join Seven at the top of the Bridge. "How can that be?"

"I don't know," Seven said, "but there must be a vessel nearby."

"There can't be. We shook off the Queen's ship," Paris objected. "There was nothing between us and the conduit collapse, all the way here. I would have seen if there was."

"Perhaps a Borg vessel preceded us into the conduit at some point during the battle," Seven said.

"Bridge to Astrometrics," Janeway said. "Icheb, have you completed scanning the surrounding space for ships?"

"Not yet," Icheb said. "I have scanned much of the space between us and Earth-"

"Have you detected any Borg vessels?"

"Borg?" Icheb sounded puzzled. "Of course not. Why would-"

"Try looking for transwarp particles," Janeway interrupted. "In all directions."

There was a short pause. Then Icheb said, "Captain, it looks like there are two transwarp trails leading away from our position. They've been obscured by a randomized EM field, but there were still faint traces visible when I searched specifically for Borg tricyclic plasma decay rates."

"Leading to?" Janeway said sharply.

"They're moving away from Earth," Icheb said. "In the direction of Starbase 3."

Janeway closed her eyes briefly. "Icheb, keep scanning in that direction, but don't wait until the scan's complete to upload the information to the Bridge. I want to see everything you're seeing, as it appears."

"Aye, Captain."

"Starbase 3 is only two lightyears away," Chakotay said, coming back down to join Janeway on the command level. "If that was the Borg's destination, they could be there already. And with communications jammed-"

"-they won't be able to call for help," Janeway finished grimly. "Red Alert! Mr. Paris, set course for Starbase 3. Maximum warp."

She settled into her chair and gave Chakotay a rueful look as the red lights began to flash.

"I guess our homecoming will just have to wait."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you had as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it! Let me know what you thought.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note:** Apologies for the long delay between chapters! Real life took a bite out of me the past few weeks, but I should be back on track now.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 _Captain's log, stardate 54404.6_

 _We have confirmed our location at galactic coordinates 090-mark-284, 31 lightyears from Earth. However, as much as we would like to get home, we are now traveling in the opposite direction en route to Starbase 3, following the transwarp trails of two Borg vessels. Due to a subspace communications jam, we have been unable to contact Starfleet Command or the starbase. I just hope we can make it there to offer our assistance before it's too late._

"We're approaching Starbase 3," Paris reported over the blare of the Red Alert. Janeway joined him at the helm as the tension on the Bridge grew.

During the short journey they had passed eight vessels, all unarmed merchant and passenger ships, traveling at full speed away from the starbase and toward Earth. Evacuees, presumably, who had managed to escape the Borg vessels. Janeway just hoped the civilians would be able to contact Starfleet Command as soon as they got out of range of the Borg's subspace jammer. Voyager's EB cannon was still functional, it was true, but it was an understatement to say it would be a challenge for them to fend off two Borg vessels alone, with no Coalition fleet to help them this time.

"Dropping out of warp," Paris said, and suddenly the star-streaks shrank into tiny dots, and Starbase 3 loomed in the viewscreen.

The space station was of a cylindrical design, like many Federation starbases, topped with a saucer shape where starships could enter a cavernous space for repairs and disembarkation. Further down on the cylinder were several small saucers that provided living space for the starbase crew and civilians, bristling with an array of sensors and communications equipment. Starbase 3 was one of the Federation's oldest operating space stations, although it appeared to have been upgraded since the last time Janeway had been here. There were more torpedo launchers and phaser banks installed around the edges of the main saucer than she remembered.

For a split second, all appeared to be peaceful. Starbase 3 hung motionless in the inky black of space without a ship in sight. Unbidden, a memory came to Janeway: a stop at Starbase 3 when she was stationed on the Al-Batani as a science officer, a few months after she and Captain Paris had been rescued from captivity among the Cardassians. Justin had been with her. They had shared one of their earliest dates here, in a little lounge with a view of the stars. A time of rest. A time of youth and hope. Taken off guard by the power of the memory, now more than 20 years old, Janeway clenched her jaw and shoved it back into the dusty corner of her mind where it belonged. This was no time for it.

Then they saw it, flaring out from just behind the space station: weapons fire. As Voyager curved into a gentle arc to come around, the space battle came into view, 4,000 kilometers away.

There were two Borg cubes, one of which was hanging close to the space station. The other was being swarmed by four ships, all of which were dwarfed by the enormity of their enemy. Sparking debris was scattered across the area. Janeway felt her heart sink. A ship, or several, had already been lost.

"Raise shields," she ordered. "Harry, hail the space station."

She crossed her fingers and hoped that it was only subspace transmissions being jammed and not local signals as well. She could only imagine what the commander of the station must be thinking, looking at Voyager with its weapons modifications by the Coalition, much of its hull and its nacelles replaced by the Garenorians, and worst of all, the Borg modifications to Deck 8's power relays that they had left in place years ago. Sensors would identify Voyager as a Federation ship nonetheless, but then again Starfleet's database had undoubtedly classified Voyager lost or destroyed. If Janeway were in the station commander's shoes, she would be more than a little suspicious under the circumstances.

"No response," Kim said after a beat.

"Scan for lifeforms."

"Approximately 4,000," Kim said. "Three hundred are Borg... and rising."

"The station's already being assimilated," Chakotay said softly.

"Captain!" Tuvok broke in. "Starbase 3 is powering weapons."

Janeway scarcely had time to wonder why the station wasn't already firing on the Borg, when her own question was answered. Four torpedoes launched from the saucer's edges... and headed straight for Voyager.

"Evasive maneuvers!" she shouted. "Tom, get us out of range!"

Paris managed to evade the torpedoes, and in a few moments they were traveling in a much wider arc, at a safer distance from the station.

"They must have already taken over the command center," Janeway said grimly. In a quick glance at the pop-up display beside her chair, she saw Chakotay had pulled up the specs on the four ships currently battling the cubes. Janeway experienced a strange frisson as she realized one of them was Intrepid-class: a twin ship, only Voyager had been so altered by alien technology that they were twins no longer.

There was also the Aegean, a Nebula-class starship, with a shape similar to the flagship Enterprise, but much smaller and with the addition of an overhead torpedo launcher; the T'Vrath, a Vulcan science vessel armed with phaser banks only; and the Solstice, a Nova-class starship like the Equinox they had encountered in the Delta Quadrant.

The four of them were swarming the cube, their phaser beams raking its shields and the occasional torpedo spread smashing into its sides. Pieces of the cube had been chipped away here and there; its shields must have fluctuated at some point so that the Federation ships were able to get in a few effective shots.

The shields of the Federation ships were lit up every few seconds by Borg weapons; the cube was giving as good as it got.

Suddenly, the cube put on a burst of speed, traveling along a course that would take it unerringly to Voyager. The four Federation ships were left in the dust.

"We've been spotted," Chakotay said grimly. "They know we're a bigger threat to them than the others."

"Seven, scan the cube," Janeway said. "Have the other ships managed to expose any weaknesses?"

Seven worked in silence for a few moments. "There are fluctuations in the protective shielding around the vinculum, deep in the heart of the cube. If I use a datastream to link my cortical node to the vinculum's transneural matrix, I can tap into the Collective consciousness."

Janeway raised her eyebrows. "You can do that?"

"It is the technique One used to take control of the sphere he destroyed," Seven said. "I believe I can duplicate it. The Borg will adapt quickly, but if I can access the hive mind for even a few seconds, I may be able to disrupt their operations."

"Won't they also be able to access _your_ thoughts?" Chakotay asked.

"Eventually, but I believe it will take them time to realize what is happening."

Janeway nodded. "All right, Seven. Do it."

The cube was nearly in weapons range. Quickly, Seven tapped a series of commands into her console, and then closed her eyes.

There was a long, tense silence, as Seven frowned in deep concentration. Then she gasped, and her blue eyes opened wide.

"Seven?" Janeway asked.

"They pinpointed my neural link frequency," Seven said weakly. "They have cut off my access. I was unable to instruct the drones to stand down." Her voice strengthened. "But I was able to hear enough of the hive mind to learn their pattern of shield modulations. I am inputting them now." She tapped a series of commands into her console.

"Modulate our weapons to match," Janeway said to Tuvok, and then turned to Ops. "Harry, can you raise any of those ships?"

"Actually, that Intrepid-class is hailing _us_ ," Kim said.

"Onscreen."

A woman's face appeared on the screen, a woman wearing a Starfleet uniform unfamiliar to them, with the shoulders in gray instead of a division color. Her skin was dark as polished walnut, her hair braided tightly in neat rows against her head, and behind her there were showers of sparks falling and the shouts of distant crewmen could be heard.

"This is Captain Abina Retief of the Federation starship Zephyr," she said. "Explain who you are and how you came to be in possession of that ship!"

"Abi!" Janeway felt weak with relief. She had been dreading having to try and prove her identity to a suspicious captain already distracted by a battle, but this... this was almost providential. "Abi, it's me. Kathryn Janeway, U.S.S. Voyager. We're here to help you!"

Captain Retief's mouth fell open. She pushed herself up out of her chair and slowly walked forward, staring at the viewscreen.

"Kathryn?" she said weakly. "What on Earth...?" She could not conceal her amazement. "Where did you come from? I thought-"

"Yes, I know, it's very confusing, but we really don't have time for explanations-"

Retief was horror-stricken. "They said you were _dead_..."

"Yes, and I missed your promotion-" Janeway began patiently.

"I went to your funeral!" Retief blurted out.

"-but I'm here now," Janeway pressed on, "and we have some critical information to share with you. We're sending you the shield modulation pattern that cube is using. We can use it to shoot through their shields."

"Shoot through their shields? How did you...?" With visible effort, Retief adopted a more business-like countenance. "No, you're right, explain later. Send us the pattern. I'll pass it on to the others."

Janeway perched in her chair and sent the transmission.

"Captain, the cube is opening fire," Tuvok broke in.

"Mr. Paris, evasive pattern beta four!"

Voyager soared around the cube in a wide arc, shuddering as its shields were raked by phaser fire. They heard Retief's voice over the com:

"We've received the pattern, Captain Janeway. Standing by."

Janeway stood up. "Janeway to the fleet. Fire at will! Give them everything you've got!"

Tuvok made a quick motion, and a full spread of torpedoes shot out of Voyager's launchers toward the cube. At the same moment, the Zephyr, the Solstice, the T'Vrath and the Aegean responded in kind with stabbing bolts of phaserfire and their own torpedo spreads. Everyone on the Bridge held their breath.

The torpedoes slammed into the cube, tearing paths of destruction deep into its interior. Chunks of tritanium went spinning into space. The fleet's phaser beams were carving broad scores into the cube's surface, and whole sections suddenly went dark, their power grids cut off.

Paris smirked over his shoulder. "Looks like Chaotica's lightning shields have failed, Your Majesty," he murmured just loud enough for Janeway alone to hear. She patted his shoulder and indulged him with a crooked smile.

Emboldened by their success, the fleet kept up the barrage through the cube's shields. Within a minute, they had blasted a crack deep enough that Kim, scanning the cube, suddenly spoke up:

"Captain, I'm picking up severe power fluctuations in their transwarp drive!"

"Cease fire, Mr. Tuvok! Helm, back us off!"

The rest of the Federation fleet were scattering, as well. As the five ships streaked away at full impulse, the cube shattered.

Green sparks, interspersed with chunks of twisted tritanium, spread in a vast swath across space. Janeway took a deep breath and let it out. One cube down, one to go.

"Mr. Kim, hail the Zephyr," Janeway ordered.

Captain Retief's image reappeared on the screen.

"Nice work, Kathryn. I don't suppose you have the shield modulation pattern for that other cube, too?"

"I'm afraid not," Janeway said. Now that the Borg had isolated Seven's neural link frequency, they wouldn't be able to try that again. "But we do have one other trick up our sleeve."

Quickly, she explained how the EB cannon worked, and the necessity of dropping their shields in order to fire. Retief nodded confidently.

"We can provide you cover while you fire the weapon, but Kathryn, destroying the cube isn't going to be enough. Starbase 3 is being assimilated as we speak; when you arrived I was just beginning to prepare an Away Team to try to retake the station's command center. We've lost all contact with the station crew and we're worried they may be dead... or assimilated. Is there any chance you can spare some of your crew instead? We're shorthanded, and there are hundreds of drones over there."

"How were you planning to get on the station?" Janeway asked. "Our scans are showing us it's still fully shielded."

"When our starships were scrambled to respond to the cube, Commander Sharma gave us the station's prefix code so we could lower the station's shields and destroy it if it became necessary," Retief explained. "We can drop them just long enough for you to beam through."

Janeway nodded, and made eye contact with Chakotay, Seven and Tuvok. "Tell your squads to suit up and report to the Transporter Rooms."

"We'll leave a few teams onboard with you," Chakotay said before hustling off the Bridge, followed by Tuvok and Seven.

Janeway turned back to the viewscreen. "Abi, let's make a plan for defeating that last cube. Tom, send our friends a copy of the five-ship formations you and Kelek designed."

"Aye, Captain."

* * *

Within minutes of summoning Voyager's nanite carrier squads, Chakotay strode into Transporter Room 1 to find it packed with 19 other crewmembers, comprising Squads 1 through 5. Designated team leaders were rapidly issuing gear to the others, and Chakotay was pleased to see that despite the crowded conditions and the rush they were in, everything seemed to be proceeding in an orderly fashion with a minimum of talk. Truncheons were being handed out and their straps slipped over wrists. Belts containing ration bars and water were being buckled around waists. Each squad had one team member to carry medical supplies in a pack on their back.

Every team member was already armed with a hand phaser and was wearing the assimilation glove designed by the Doctor, except for Seven and Icheb, who were instead arming themselves with dart guns and strapping on bandoleers filled with vials of nanites.

As he geared up, Chakotay quickly tapped his combadge and checked in with the transporter technician in Transporter Room 2, who reported that Squads 6 through 10 were also gearing up and nearly ready to go. Squads 11 and 12 had already been ordered to report to the Bridge and to Engineering, respectively, to protect Voyager's vital operations in case they were boarded. It was a thin line of protection and it worried Chakotay to think of Voyager's vulnerability in case of a boarding party, but the need to halt the station's assimilation, with 4,000 lives in the balance, was much greater, and they would need every man that could be spared.

Chakotay checked over his own team, Squad 1, consisting of Lieutenant Andrews, Ensign Parsons, and Neelix, who looked unusually business-like in the Starfleet uniform he had been permitted to use for this mission. They were all ready to go.

"Squad 2, report!" he called.

"Ready, Commander," Tuvok said from where he stood surrounded by Icheb, Jarvis and Murphy.

"Squad 3?"

Seven reported ready. He went down the list, and when every squad was ready to go, Chakotay approached Ensign Mulcahey at the transport console.

"We've been sent coordinates from the Bridge, sir," Mulcahey reported. "The Borg have activated their own multiphasic shielding around Levels 1 through 5. You're to transport to Level 6 and try to work your way up to the command center. Lieutenant Kim says we still haven't been able to make contact with anyone on the space station, so the crew won't be expecting you."

"Understood. Inform Transporter Room 2 to begin beaming over as soon as shields are dropped. Let's make this quick."

Chakotay's squad, along with Tuvok and Icheb, assembled on the transporter pad. There was a brief wait, and then Mulcahey glanced up from his console and said, "Shields are down, sir."

Chakotay nodded. "Energize."

The Transporter Room filled with crewmembers faded out into blackness, and a few moments later Chakotay found himself looking at the bland beige corridor of a Federation space station, curved to circumscribe the vertical core of the station where the administrative offices and staff quarters were located. He turned around, and saw that the other side of the corridor was floor-to-ceiling transparent aluminum. He glanced at the cavernous space beyond, where starships as large as a Galaxy-class could coast in through the enormous bay doors and dock at a number of ports.

There were no starships inside now, however. Presumably the four ships now battling the Borg cube were all that had been docked here when the battle began, in addition to the merchant and passenger ships Voyager had passed fleeing the scene.

Chakotay and the others glanced up and down the curved corridor. It appeared deserted. Seven already had her tricorder out and was scanning.

"There are hundreds of drones on the levels above us, Commander," she said, "but this section appears to be clear."

The next group began to materialize next to them.

"Where's the nearest access to Level 5?" Chakotay asked.

"There are turbolifts 500 feet that way." Seven pointed down a corridor leading further into the administrative core like the spoke of a wheel. "Or there are Jefferies tubes closer to the perimeter in Sections 4, 8 and 12."

Chakotay and Tuvok briefly conferred, and agreed to split the squads up and take the Jefferies tubes. Chances were good that the drones were either using the turbolifts themselves already, or had shut them down to prevent anyone from doing what they were attempting to do right now.

Chakotay led the 12 crewmembers comprising Squads 1 through 3 in a jog around the perimeter, headed for the Jefferies tube in Section 8. They were nearly there when Seven, still glancing at her tricorder from time to time, spoke up.

"Commander, there are six life signs in this section, near the core of the station. Five human, one Ktarian."

"Most likely the station crew," Tuvok said.

"Good," Chakotay said. "Our job will be a lot easier if we can meet up with some people who know their way around here. Take us to them."

"I'm sure they'll be grateful for all the help they can get," Neelix said.

"Especially once they see what our nanites can do," Icheb put in.

* * *

"Make way! Everyone stand aside, on the double!"

At the sound of Lieutenant Moore's call, Lieutenant Commander Blaggenkort looked up from the turbolift's control panel to see four crewmen jogging down the curved corridor, each pair carrying a heavy crate between them. The crewman around Blaggenkort moved to the sides of the corridor to make way, and soon the crates were placed on the deck before him and popped open for his inspection.

Blaggenkort ran his hands across the rows of photonic charges inside. "Good work, everyone," he said. "Begin placing them in the shafts, directly on the linear induction motors. We'll start here and work our way down. Quickly, now. We don't have much time."

"Should we try to place charges above our level too, sir?" Moore asked, but Blaggenkort was already shaking his head.

"Too risky," he said. "Levels 5 and above are already infested with drones, and if they detect us before we get enough charges placed, we'll lose the chance to cut them off from the lower levels."

A flurry of activity commenced as the three chosen crewmen began clambering into the turbolift shaft to clip the cables wrapped around their waists to the nearest beam for support. A relay formed and soon a steady line of photonic charges were being handed from crewman to crewman with rapid efficiency and disappearing into the darkness of the shaft.

They were all sweating profusely, Blaggenkort noted. As a Ktarian, the 39.1 degrees Celsius currently being maintained by the environmental controls - already hijacked by the Borg - actually felt more comfortable to him than the normal temperature of Starbase 3. But he knew the discomfort of his human colleagues might result in heat exhaustion and mistakes. All the more reason to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Blaggenkort stuck his head into the opening and looked up and down the shaft. Inside the dim space, his crewman were busily placing the charges on the linear induction motors, spaced at regular intervals from level to level. He could not hear the whine of graviton relays in either direction. Good. The Borg were not using the turbolifts... yet.

A woman's voice rang out from down the corridor. "Where's Commander Sharma?"

In response to the call, Blaggenkort backed his head out of the shaft and stood up. A young blond woman toting a phaser rifle pushed through the crowd, head swiveling to find the station's commander.

"He isn't here," Moore said to her quietly.

"Ensign Giles, report!" Blaggenkort said.

"Sir, we've cleared this section and the ones on either side of us, and left men on guard," she breathlessly reported. "We've also sealed off the closest Jefferies tube hatches with sheets of tritanium, but if the Borg decide to come down that way, I don't think it will do anything more than slow them down."

"At this point, anything is better than nothing," Blaggenkort said grimly.

Giles was looking in surprise at the photonic charges being handed off from crewman to crewman and then disappearing into the shaft. "Sir? We're blowing the turbolifts? What about the civilians still trying to evacuate to the lower levels?"

"We don't have a choice," Blaggenkort said grimly. "The Borg took Commander Sharma. They could have access to his command codes at any moment, if they don't already."

Giles stared at him, frozen in horror. "They assimilated the commander?"

He understood her shock. After Evie Giles' father had been killed in the Dominion War, she had leaned on the commander for strength and support. Aadesh Sharma wasn't only her commanding officer, he was also her mentor and father figure.

 _And he wasn't only my commanding officer_ , Blaggenkort thought. _He was my friend._

"Yes, and if the Borg break his lockout of the turbolift controls, drones will be flooding the lower levels within minutes," Blaggenkort said, his voice harsh. "The civilians have been instructed to exit the turbolifts and continue moving down using the Jefferies tubes. Now take up your position in Section 6 and wait for further orders, Ensign."

Giles swallowed. "Yes, sir."

She disappeared back through the crowd, and Blaggenkort got back to work overseeing the placement of the photonic charges.

Fektar help us if they break the commander's lockout of the shields as well, he thought grimly. Bad enough that hundreds of drones had beamed over before they had remodulated the shields; with that cube parked on their doorstep, they could end up with _thousands_ on the station.

The crew worked in grim silence, and the minutes slipped by.

"Sir?" Moore called out at last from his position in the relay line. He had stripped off his jacket in the oppressive heat. "We're out of charges up here."

Blaggenkort made his way over to the shaft opening. All that could be seen of the three crewman rigged for climbing were their moving wrist lights far down below. "How many levels did we get to?"

"They're about to place the last charges on Level 9," Moore said.

Four levels. That should create enough of an obstruction that the lifts would not be able to get through. "As soon as that's done, have the climbers exit out the turbolift door nearest to them," Blaggenkort said. "Instruct everyone to evacuate the inner sections for Levels 6 through 9. We don't want to lose any of our own in the blast."

"Yes, sir." Moore held up his tricorder. "I've got it all set up to blow the charges remotely."

Moore alerted all teams to evacuate the inner sections, and the six of them had hardly turned to run when Blaggenkort's combadge chirped.

"Giles to Blaggenkort! Sir, the drones have escaped through the hatch in Section 7!" Phaserfire could be heard over the com, and desperate shouts. "We eliminated a few, but they've adapted to our weapons!"

"We've got the charges set," Blaggenkort said. "You only need to slow them down long enough to hold an escape route open for us. Can you do that? We'll arrive at your position in 30 seconds."

"Aye, sir."

The six of them ran on, panting in the heat, and soon they reached a crossing of the corridors. Blaggenkort glanced to the left, and a chill shot down his spine as he saw a group of drones marching toward them. Giles was frantically working at an open control panel while Marsden guarded her. Marsden fired his phaser at an approaching drone, but the only result was a flare of green light where the drone's body shield protected it.

The approaching drones spoke to them as one:

 _"We are the Borg. Existence as you know it is over. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile."_

The drones were within a few feet of them when Giles suddenly gave a triumphant shout, and a forcefield fizzed into existence between the station crew and the drones.

"That won't hold them long," Giles said to Blaggenkort as she got to her feet.

"Long enough," he said. "Let's go."

He turned to run, but suddenly Giles, standing beside him, gasped audibly.

"Commander?" she said.

Blaggenkort looked back. Evie's horror-stricken eyes were fixed on one of the drones standing on the other side of the forcefield.

He was dressed in a red command uniform, though it was torn and dirty. His wavy black hair was mussed, and his normally dusky skin was unnaturally pale. A star-like implant spread across his cheek, and a red light blinked above his left eye.

Commander Aadesh Sharma.

The man who had once been Starbase 3's commander opened his mouth and repeated in perfect harmony with the other drones:

 _"Lower your forcefield. Resistance is futile."_

Giles took a hesitant step closer to the commander on the other side of the forcefield, and then looked pleadingly at Blaggenkort. "Sir, we have to do something!"

Blaggenkort tore his gaze from his former friend's vacant eyes. "We have to go!" he snapped. "That's an order, Ensign!"

"We can't leave him!" she objected in anguished tones. "He'll be killed in the blast!"

"He's already gone!" Blaggenkort grabbed Giles by the arm and pulled her away. The rest of his team had already started moving down the corridor.

Giles didn't resist being dragged away, but over the tumult their boots made on the deck as they made their escape, Blaggenkort heard a single sob escape her lips.

They had only just caught up with Moore at the front of the group when suddenly the lieutenant held up a hand, his eyes fixed on his tricorder.

"Wait, sir!" he said urgently. "There are a dozen drones approaching us from _this_ direction!"

"What?" Blaggenkort demanded. "Where did they come from?"

"I don't know sir, but they've got us boxed in!"

Had the station lost shields? Were new drones already beaming aboard? Nervously, Blaggenkort glanced back at the first group of drones, the ones still contained behind the forcefield. Several of them were into the control panels, puncturing the equipment with their assimilation tubules, no doubt attempting to override the forcefield. With a sick feeling, Blaggenkort realized they were caught in a pincer.

Blaggenkort set his jaw. "We'll have to make a run for it. Force our way out. Everyone, ready weapons!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when two drones in Starfleet uniforms rounded the bend from the other direction. Blaggenkort caught a glimpse of one of them, a blond woman with an implant over her eye, only moments before his team opened fire on her.

The drone leaped back behind the curve of the corridor in an impressive display of self-preservation, pushing the other drone back to safety as well. The station crew blasted several more lines of phaserfire in that direction, but the drones stayed safely out of sight.

It took Blaggenkort a moment to realize how strange that was. Borg did not dodge attacks. They simply went about their business, whatever it was, and either fell as they were mowed down or pressed on with the protection of their body shields, barely deigning to notice the people who tried to get in their way.

A face poked out slightly from behind the curve of the corridor; a male drone this time. Moore and the others opened fire, and the drone shrank back.

"Hold your fire!" a voice called out. "We're here to help!"

"We don't need your kind of help!" Jones shouted back, sweat pouring down his face, and popped off a couple more shots.

"Everybody, hold your fire!" Blaggenkort shouted.

A sudden silence fell. Blaggenkort could feel all eight chambers of his heart working overtime trying to pump blood to his brain. Something was wrong here. Something was not right.

"Moore, your tricorder," he said tersely. Moore handed it over, and Blaggenkort stared at it.

It definitely said there were 12 drones just around the bend. But drones didn't dodge phaserfire. Drones didn't claim to be here to help. Or at least they never had before. Borg had no need to deceive; they could conquer entire systems without playing such games.

"Identify yourselves!" Blaggenkort shouted.

The man cautiously looked out again. Blaggenkort could see just half his face: he was human, with dark hair and a pointed tattoo over his eye, but no visible implants. "Commander Chakotay, U.S.S. Voyager," he called out.

Blaggenkort didn't recognize the ship's name; certainly Voyager had not been among the starships inside the starbase when the attack began, nor was it one of the ships assigned to patrol this sector. But Starfleet maintained thousands of starships, with more under construction every day in a mad rush to replace all that had been lost in the Dominion War, and perhaps Voyager was among the newly completed.

Yet... the tricorder couldn't be wrong. Twelve lifeforms, all infected with nanoprobes. And Blaggenkort was certain he had seen Borg implants on the blond woman he had glimpsed.

Perhaps they were still in the process of assimilation. Or perhaps they were a specialized drone, some new adaptation of the Borg to sow confusion in the midst of a battle. It was possible. In any case, they had to get past them to escape the blast radius.

"I don't know who you really are, and frankly I don't care!" Blaggenkort yelled. "If you haven't vacated that corridor in the next ten seconds, we will shoot our way through, do you understand me?"

"Commander!" One of Blaggenkort's men shouted from the back of the group. "The drones have adapted, sir, they're coming through the forcefield!"

"Move out! Let's go, let's go!"

Blaggenkort charged around the corner flanked by Giles and Moore, and the rest of his team following behind. He had his finger tightened on the trigger of his phaser rifle in anticipation, but as they rounded the bend all they saw were the backs of the new drones, or whatever they were, running in the same direction Blaggenkort and his people were. Whoever they were, they had actually obeyed his command.

Blaggenkort didn't have time to wonder at that, though, because at that very moment, a green forcefield bisected the corridor ahead of all of them. The station crew skidded to a halt, heads swiveling and phasers pointing in all directions. Now they were trapped between the strange drones and the ones from the hatch rapidly coming up behind them, with no escape in sight.

"Giles, can you get that forcefield down?" Blaggenkort barked.

"I'll try, sir." Giles slung her rifle over her shoulder, tore a panel off the wall, and began quickly tapping the controls.

"Are we out of the blast radius of our photonic charges?" Blaggenkort asked Moore.

Moore's face was bleak. "No, sir."

Blaggenkort bowed his head momentarily. If they failed to set off the charges, the Borg would take the turbolifts to the lower levels, where thousands of civilians would become helpless targets. He knew his duty. If his team could not escape the blast radius, they would have to set off the charges nonetheless.

They heard Marsden cry out from the back, and there was a flurry of bangs and shouts. Suddenly the drones from the hatch were among them, swinging their heavy plated arms like clubs. Crewmen were dropping left and right. Their phaser blasts were worse than useless against the Borg. Blaggenkort caught a glimpse of Jones, wrapped in the arms of a drone, screaming as his throat was injected with assimilation tubules.

Darting his eyes the other way, Blaggenkort saw with dismay that the other drones, the strange ones, hadn't stayed back by the Borg forcefield. They were running toward him full-speed and they were brandishing long black truncheons in their hands.

It was the first good look he had gotten at them, and despite the horror of the situation, Blaggenkort experienced a moment of utter confusion when he realized that every single one of those 12 drones charging toward him were dressed in Starfleet uniforms: the _old_ ones, the ones with division colors on their shoulders that hadn't been in use for years.

One of them, a young man in a cadet uniform with a Borg implant alongside his ridged nose, raised a strange-looking weapon and fired something that zipped just past Blaggenkort's head. Staggering back belatedly, he turned to follow the course of the projectile, and saw Jones, still writhing in agony as nanoprobes ravaged his body, clutching at a dart sticking out of his neck.

A jolt moved through Blaggenkort's body. So they _had_ lied. Foe, not friend. Lifting his rifle in preparation, Blaggenkort looked over at Giles, still working at the control panel with Moore covering her back.

"The forcefield?" he asked grimly.

She shook her head wildly. "I can't get control of the system, they're adapting too quickly!"

Blaggenkort spared one last look past her. The drones from the hatch had them utterly routed. His people were lying on the ground, or pinned to the bulkheads, arms flailing uselessly as they were overpowered by drones much stronger than any human. Several drones were nearly within reach of the three of them, the last ones still standing. Blaggenkort locked eyes with Moore.

"Set off the charges," he said quietly.

Without hesitation, Moore opened his tricorder and moved his finger toward the button.

...and dropped the tricorder as the uniformed drones rushed through and slammed into him.

Chaos erupted. Giles pressed her body against the control panel trying to avoid the onslaught. Blaggenkort was knocked over and momentarily stunned as his head connected with something hard. Through blurry vision, he could see Moore on his hands and knees, frantically trying to recover his tricorder from the cluttered deck as uniformed bodies rushed past him to either side, one even jumping over him. Truncheons were swinging left and right and a confusion of orders were being shouted.

"I got this one! Hold him, hold him!"

"Watch your back, there's another one!"

Slumped against the bulkhead, Blaggenkort heard Giles scream and he turned toward the sound, head aching, to see her fumble for her phaser rifle. A drone was coming toward her, and not just any drone. It was Commander Sharma, or what was left of him, advancing on Giles with slow, deliberate steps. Light gleamed on the implant in his cheek as he lifted a hand against her.

Just in time, Giles pointed her rifle at the commander's chest... and hesitated.

Sharma struck her across the face, and Giles staggered from the blow. Instantly Sharma had her pinned against the bulkhead and began moving his fist toward her throat. Struggling wildly, Giles caught him by the wrist and tried to force his hand away, but he was too strong for her.

"Commander? Commander Sharma!" Giles fought for breath. "Oh, remember, sir! Please snap out of it! It's me, Evie! Please!"

Desperate enough to power his way through the pain, Blaggenkort staggered back to his feet and lifted his phaser rifle. In three steps he had the barrel pressed against the side of his friend's head.

"Aadesh?" he said, and though he meant to jolt his friend back to himself, the name as it crossed his lips sounded more like a plea.

Sharma turned his bloodshot eyes toward Blaggenkort. There was no hint of recollection, no sign of the warmth and humor that had always shone from his dark eyes. Ignoring the rifle pressed to his temple, the drone broke eye contact with Blaggenkort and resumed inexorably pressing his fist toward Giles' throat. Blaggenkort felt his heart sink and, blinking back moisture, his finger tightened on the trigger.

"Don't, don't, please don't!" Giles shouted hysterically, and Blaggenkort couldn't tell if she was talking to him or to Sharma, but either way it made no difference.

"Forgive me," Blaggenkort whispered.

He pulled the trigger. Giles screamed.

A bright white energy discharge crackled loudly against Sharma's head, and Blaggenkort jerked away from the scorching heat, dropping his phaser rifle.

The smell of ozone filled the air. Slowly the smoke cleared away, and Blaggenkort's eyes widened in disbelief. Sharma was still standing. Still pinning Giles to the bulkhead. His body shielding had protected him even from a point-blank shot.

The drone spared a single cold glance at Blaggenkort, and then pushed his fist against Giles' neck.

Suddenly a truncheon whistled through the air and struck Sharma across the back. Turning to see this new threat, Sharma released Giles to swing a heavy arm at a dark-skinned Vulcan man wearing an old tactical uniform.

The Vulcan dodged the blow, and the truncheon in his left hand came whistling down again, this time hitting Sharma across the side of his neck. The drone stumbled, and instantly the Vulcan wrapped his arms tightly around Sharma from behind, gripping the truncheon in both hands so that the drone's arms were pinned to his sides.

As Sharma struggled mightily to escape his confinement, another man approached, the tattooed man Blaggenkort had glimpsed before. He pressed a black-gloved fist against Sharma's neck, and to Blaggenkort's shock, two tubules shot out and pierced Sharma's neck, right where he already had two scabs from his first assimilation.

Sharma went limp in the Vulcan's arms. Slowly, the Vulcan lowered the commander to the deck, where he lay twitching, his eyes glazed over.

Giles was too stunned to react. She made no resistance as the tattooed man put his hands on either side of her face, turning her head to get a better view of her throat.

"He didn't get you?" he said to her softly. "You lucked out, Ensign. I think I've about hit my limit for now." He looked bone-weary, his hands actually shaking with exhaustion as he released Giles.

Befuddled, Blaggenkort looked about him. The fighting was over. There were drones twitching on the deck all down the corridor. The people in the old Starfleet uniforms were helping his people onto their feet and running medical tricorders over them. Jones was sitting on the deck, one hand pressed to his head, but he was conscious and talking to one of the newcomers calmly. The dart had been removed from his neck and he showed no signs of Borg implants or even skin mottling. Blaggenkort couldn't understand it.

He looked down at his feet. Commander Sharma was no longer twitching. His eyes were closed and his chest moved up and down quietly and steadily. He looked for all the world as though he were merely asleep.

"What did you do to him?" Blaggenkort asked the newcomers in amazement.

"We injected him with individual-specific immuno-dependent nanoprobe-converters," the Vulcan man said, "which can change nanoprobes into benign nanites, which then-"

"Hang on, wait." Blaggenkort frowned. "Individual... dependent... what?"

The tattooed man - Commander Chakotay, he had called himself earlier - suppressed a smile. "Freebots. We used freebots to turn bad nanoprobes into good ones."

" _Good_ nanoprobes?" Giles repeated, her voice practically a squeak.

"They dismantle implants, rather than create them," the Vulcan put in.

Commander Chakotay looked down at Sharma. "Looks like he hasn't been assimilated long. He has a good chance of recovery."

"Sir!" Moore joined the crowd forming around Blaggenkort. "I found my tricorder. Should I still...?" He held it up uncertainly.

Blaggenkort glanced down the corridor. Unfortunately, the Borg forcefield was active.

"We're still trapped," he said wearily. "Unless anyone has any bright ideas about how to deactivate that thing. We've got to destroy the turbolifts quickly, before drones start coming down them. If they haven't already while we've been wasting time here," he added.

"We need seven," Commander Chakotay said, beckoning to one of his crew.

"Seven of what?" Blaggenkort said blankly.

Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "Seven of Nine."

A blond woman in a science uniform approached, the one Blaggenkort had first seen coming around the bend just before the fighting had broken out. He hadn't been mistaken earlier; she _did_ have a Borg implant above her eye, and another smaller one in front of her ear.

"Commander?" she said.

He nodded toward the forcefield. "I don't suppose you could...?"

"Of course." The woman turned and coolly walked straight through the forcefield. She then found the nearest control panel and thrust assimilation tubules inside it. A few seconds later, the forcefield flickered and then disappeared.

Explanations would have to wait. Quickly, Blaggenkort ordered his crewman to carry Commander Sharma and help the other injured get to a safe distance. To his surprise, he saw the crew of Voyager picking up all the fallen drones and bringing them along as well.

"Aren't they a lost cause?" he asked, looking skeptically at the limp bodies as they were carried past. Unlike Sharma, their assimilations were clearly not recent: they were all bald and fully encased in Borg armor, many of them with eyes or limbs replaced with cybernetics.

"I was a drone for 18 years," said Seven of Nine, who was standing beside him. "They rescued me." Her blue eyes glittered at him, and then she bent to help one of the Voyagers carry a drone past.

Moving together, they all hustled along the corridors. When they were safely outside the blast radius, Blaggenkort gave the word and Moore detonated the photonic charges remotely.

The station shuddered with a series of small explosions, and when it was over, the station crew got back on their feet. Relieved that it was done at last, Blaggenkort looked around him at the Voyagers. Most of them were sitting or leaning against the bulkheads with eyes half-closed in weariness. Their lethargy was puzzling to him; although the fighting had been fierce, it had been relatively brief. Seven of Nine was moving from person to person, scanning them with a tricorder, and giving each one rapid instructions. Most of them were digging ration bars out of their belt pouches and opening them up. It seemed a strange time to stop for a snack, but Blaggenkort was starting to recognize the Voyagers had a method to all their madness.

He walked over to Commander Chakotay just as Seven of Nine reached him.

"How many injections did you administer, Commander?" the ex-drone asked briskly.

"Three. And I was stung once myself," he added, showing her two puncture marks on his neck.

Seven of Nine scanned him with a medical tricorder. "Your nanites have nearly eradicated the nanoprobes, but you should replenish immediately," she said, and she efficiently moved on to scan the next crewmember.

Chakotay pulled a ration bar out of a belt pouch and started to eat.

"You want to explain what's going on?" Blaggenkort asked him. "These freebots you have... I've never heard that Starfleet was developing something like that. Where did you get them? And another thing. Why are you all out of uniform?"

Several of the Voyager crewmembers exchanged glances, and didn't seem to know what to say at first. Finally, the Vulcan spoke up. "We have been on a deep space mission. We developed the individual-specific - or rather, the freebots - ourselves. Starfleet Command is not aware that they exist."

"Must have been the deepest deep space mission there ever was," Moore said, sounding skeptical. "We haven't worn those uniforms in years."

"Don't tell me I'm out of style already!" exclaimed one of the Voyagers - an alien Blaggenkort didn't recognize, with yellowish spotted skin and muttonchop whiskers. He smoothed his black and gold jacket proudly. "Why, I've been dying to get into this uniform since the first day I set foot on Voyager. Just ask Mr. Tuvok!" He clapped a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. Several of his crewmates grinned and chuckled at this, while Tuvok lifted an eyebrow and held his tongue.

"Voyager?" Marsden suddenly spoke up. "Not _the_ Voyager? Not the one that was lost?"

"A lost ship?" Blaggenkort repeated.

"We were never lost," Chakotay said. "We always knew exactly where we were."

Marsden's eyes lit up. "Do you mean to tell me...? I had a friend on board! John Schoolcraft. That Voyager?"

"He works in Engineering," Chakotay confirmed. "And he plays a wicked game of Parrises Squares."

"Unbelievable!" Marsden shot an excited look at Blaggenkort. "Sir, they've been missing for years and years... I don't think anyone expected to ever see them again!"

Commander Sharma, lying on the deck, groaned and stirred slightly. Giles knelt down beside him and gently smoothed his hair back from his forehead. At her touch, the man's dark eyes slid open, and he focused on her.

"Commander Sharma?" Giles said gently.

Sharma blinked. "Evie?" His voice was hoarse, but he seemed alert enough. He tried to get up, and Blaggenkort quickly put a strong hand behind the commander's back and helped him sit up.

Sharma looked around himself uncertainly, fixing on each of his crewmates' faces in turn, and then looking back at Blaggenkort. He hesitantly put up a hand, touched the implant on his cheek, and shuddered involuntarily.

"Sir?" Giles said in a hushed voice, hovering near him. "Are you...?

"The voices," Sharma said wonderingly, and he swallowed painfully. "They're gone. I can't hear them anymore."

Giles smiled broadly, and looked up at Blaggenkort, the relief in her eyes plain to see.

"These people," Blaggenkort told Sharma, glancing around at the Voyager crew, "used something called freebots to liberate you from the Collective. The technology seems to be effective, sir. It may turn the tide of the battle for us."

"Where are we?" Sharma asked, and already his voice seemed a little stronger.

"On Level 6, sir," Blaggenkort answered quickly. "The Borg have taken over Levels 1 through-"

"Through 5, yes," Sharma interrupted. "I remember. We were going to- I mean, the Borg, the Borg are planning to work their way down through each level of the station, assimilating as they go. They need more drones. Once the station is secured they intend to spread to other starbases, to other colonies, and assimilate as much as they can. Once they have enough, they will move to the strongholds. Earth. Vulcan. Betazed." Idly he picked at the melting silver strands crisscrossing his hand, pulling them off and leaving behind raw red stripes on his skin.

"Your individuality, Commander," Seven said suddenly. "Did you retain any of it?"

Sharma looked at her blankly.

"Were you permitted to keep your unique voice?" Seven clarified.

"All voices are alike in the Collective," Sharma said, puzzled. "All thoughts are one."

Seven glanced at Chakotay. "Then it's as I thought, Commander. These drones answer to the Queen, not Locutus. They're following her original plan to assimilate the Federation. In the usual... _efficient_ way." Her voice was hollow.

"Seven," Chakotay said gently, understanding at once what she was thinking. "That doesn't mean that Locutus is dead. She may simply be disconnected-"

"We should make a decision about our next course of action," Seven said, her voice harsh. "More drones could arrive at any moment."

"We should go up the Jefferies tubes ourselves," Sharma said decisively. He held out his hands, and his people helped get him back on his feet. "Go on the offensive. Take the station back, level by level. With these 'freebots' of yours, I like our odds a lot better."

"I will contact the other squads from Voyager and inform them of our plans," Tuvok said. "They may have already infiltrated Level 5."

"We'll warn the rest of our people to watch out for yours, and tell them to team up whenever possible," Blaggenkort added.

Giles laid a phaser in Commander Sharma's hands.

"Everyone ready?" Sharma asked.

Chakotay picked up his truncheon and slipped the strap over his wrist. "Let's get moving."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** I welcome feedback!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The glowing green debris from the destroyed Borg cube was still streaming across the viewscreen as Voyager transmitted battle formation plans to the Zephyr.

Janeway paced the Bridge. On Voyager's viewscreen, Captain Retief could be seen rapidly scanning the information she was receiving.

"Yes, we can do this," Retief said, and her quiet confidence was infectious. "These are not dissimilar from tactics we used in the First Battle of Chin'toka."

Chin'toka was a Cardassian system, but Janeway had never heard of any Federation battle being fought there. Apparently they had a lot of catching up to do regarding Alpha Quadrant news, but this wasn't the time for it.

Lieutenant Kim spoke up. "Captain, the remaining Borg cube is abandoning its position by Starbase 3 and is now headed straight for us."

"Good," Janeway said grimly. "As long as we keep them busy, they won't be able to continue transporting drones to the station." Tuvok and Chakotay's teams were presumably still fighting the drones already there, hoping to regain control of the station's vital systems and protect the civilians who had been unable to evacuate before the Borg attacked.

"I'm going to bring our other ships onto the comline," Retief said, gesturing to one of her crewmembers off-screen. "Zephyr to the fleet. This is Captain Retief. We have here Captain Kathryn Janeway of the U.S.S. Voyager. She is transmitting battle formation plans to us, which we will use to protect Voyager as it fires a specialized weapon at that remaining cube. Please acknowledge."

One by one, small boxes containing the images of the other three captains popped up at the edges of Voyager's viewscreen.

A dignified gray-haired Vulcan in the uniform of a Vulcan science vessel responded first. "This is Captain Nirak of the T'Vrath. We are standing by for our instructions."

"Captain Andrus Grax of the Solstice. Acknowledged and ready to assist." The captain of the little Nova-class starship had the deep black eyes of a Betazoid.

Last of all, a balding man with a ring of dark hair just above his ears spoke up. "This is Captain Christopher Hobson of the Aegean. We're receiving the transmission now."

Janeway nodded a greeting to each of them. "We don't have much time before that cube comes in range." Quickly she assigned each of them a position in the formation designed by Paris and the Coalition tactical experts, and they managed to maneuver into place just as the cube came in range and opened fire on them.

Safe behind the shields of the other four ships, Voyager had already lowered shields and started warming up the EB cannon, when Ayala suddenly spoke up. "Captain, the cube is coming at us at full speed. At this rate they'll be within ramming distance before we finish warming up the cannon."

Silently Janeway cursed. The Borg were beginning to get the hang of the limitations of their weapon. "Janeway to the fleet. Full reverse! We need to buy a few more seconds of time. Don't break formation!"

The Zephyr, the Aegean, the T'Vrath and the Solstice responded quickly but not quite simultaneously. As they all fired reverse thrusters in a maneuver unfamiliar to them, the tight formation wobbled and spread apart. Gaps in the shielding appeared in front of Voyager. A blast of phaser fire from the cube glanced off the edge of the Aegean's shields and a bright spray of deflected energy washed across Voyager, shaking the deck beneath their feet. Kim warned: "Hull integrity down to 70 percent!"

"T'vrath, move 3 degrees to starboard!" they could hear Retief shouting. "Close that gap!"

The next several seconds seemed to last an eternity, but finally the formation tightened up and Voyager was shielded once more as the cube unleashed a barrage of weapons fire. The four Federation ships did their best to respond in kind, targeting every Borg tractor beam generator and missile launcher that came within range of their phasers and torpedoes.

"Ayala, how long?" Janeway called.

"Five seconds."

"Janeway to the fleet. Prepare to break formation on my mark. Three... two... one... mark. Fire cannon!"

Their four protectors scattered, and the lights on the Bridge dimmed as Voyager's cannon discharged its pent-up energy. Their energy beam, white-hot against the black of space, lashed against the hull of the cube.

Janeway hardly had time to see the newly-formed crater in the cube and the accompanying outward spray of debris before their small fleet reformed behind Voyager, buying them time to escape the cube while they restored power for the next run.

"Status of the cube?" she called out.

"Eighty percent of the cube is undamaged, and they're still fully shielded," Kim reported.

Janeway tried not to let her disappointment show. This had been much easier with the Coalition to help. Their single energy beam looked pathetically small compared to the combined bolts they were accustomed to creating.

"A direct hit, and only 20 percent damaged?" Paris said with disgust. "We're going to have to _peck_ them to death, aren't we?"

Janeway ignored this. "Janeway to the fleet. Report!"

Rapidly each captain reported that weapons were still online. Each ship had sustained damage to shields, but none were dangerously low, and they were as ready as they would ever be for the next attack run.

Directed by Janeway, the fleet converged into beta formation and performed a second attack run. As before, they were able to score another direct hit, but this time, as the fleet tried to put some distance between themselves and the cube, the cube unexpectedly spun on its axis, and full spreads of missiles launched from a variety of launch points on its undamaged side, which slammed against the retreating ships still protecting Voyager.

The com system exploded with frantic updates from the other ships.

"This is the Aegean! Our shields are down!"

"-integrity down to 30 percent!"

"Weapons are offline! Reroute power to-"

"-hull breaches on six decks. Forcefields are in place-"

Janeway's eyes darted over her tactical screen. The Zephyr and the Aegean were still alongside them, coasting through the vacuum of space, but their engines were dark. As for Voyager, the Bridge lights were still dimmed thanks to the energy discharge for the EB cannon, which meant most of ship's operations were down. They were sitting ducks, all of them.

"Harry, can you get power back up?" she asked.

"Working on it."

"It looks like the cube's navigation is down," Paris called over his shoulder. "They aren't moving."

Thank heaven for small favors. "What's the status of our deflector dish?" she asked, but before anyone could answer, Ayala interrupted.

"Captain!" he called out. "There's a transport in progress from the cube! To _us_!"

Almost simultaneously, Kim said triumphantly, "I've got partial main power back!"

A high-pitched whine filled the Bridge, and the green sparkle of Borg transporter beams appeared in multiple areas of the Bridge. Janeway pulled out her phaser, and the rest of the Bridge crew did the same.

"Shields up!" she called. "Quickly!"

Ayala bent his head and tapped quickly at his controls. The transporter beams wavered, fitzed out, and finally vanished.

"Shields are up," Ayala said, sounding noticeably relieved.

Janeway didn't lower her phaser just yet. "Scan the entire ship for Borg signatures. Were we boarded?"

There was a pause. "No, ma'am, the transport did not complete."

Janeway breathed a sigh of relief, and turned back to the viewscreen. It looked like the T'Vrath and the Solstice were drifting, still dangerously close to the cube. They both had multiple hull breaches, a few of them still flickering with flames as the ships vented atmosphere. The Aegean and the Zephyr were limping away from the cube at low impulse now.

"I can't believe the Borg aren't blowing them away," someone murmured from the back of the Bridge.

But Janeway wasn't surprised. It was for the same reason the cube did not destroy Voyager in those critical seconds that their shields were down: the Borg were after assimilation, not destruction. With only one cube left, and that one significantly damaged, the Borg wanted the Federation starships for themselves if possible, to carry drones to their next target.

She turned back toward Ops.

"Harry, can you hail the rest of our fleet and request their status?"

The comline crackled to life, and the calm voice of Captain Nirak could be heard. "This is the T'Vrath. We have suffered multiple hull breaches and our life support is failing. Can anyone transport my crew to safety?"

Janeway looked at Kim, who shook his head regretfully. "Transporters are off-line."

Captain Retief responded. "This is the Zephyr. We've lost shields and there are drones beaming aboard! We're trying to contain them, but that bombardment has damaged nearly all our systems!"

Captain Hobson's voice chimed in. "This is the Aegean. We're being boarded as well. So far our Bridge is secure, but we've lost main power and we are unable to offer assistance."

There was a short silence.

"Voyager to the Solstice," Janeway said. "Report!"

There was no response. The Solstice was still drifting near the cube, and as it turned in a slow spin, Janeway realized with dismay that in addition to all its hull breaches, its starboard nacelle was leaking ignited plasma. It seemed clear Captain Grax was in no position to help, either. The crew might very well be dead already.

"I will send my crew to the escape pods, and set the T'Vrath to self-destruct," Captain Nirak said. "Perhaps we can do some damage to the cube."

"The cube will open fire on your pods, or tow them in," Captain Hobson said. "Mr. Gibson, reverse course. Put us between the T'Vrath and the cube. We can buy you some escape time."

"Belay that, Aegean," Captain Retief said quickly. "You aren't shielded, and we just restored ours. Let us cover the pods. Just get yourselves out of transporter range of that cube!"

"Acknowledged."

The Zephyr pulled into place near the T'Vrath. The cube unleashed a barrage of weapons fire at them, but Retief stood her ground. Already a thin stream of escape pods were emerging from their launches on the T'Vrath and their tiny jets fired to maneuver away from the cube. The Aegean was making good time in its escape as well. Paris shifted in his seat, looking up at Janeway expectantly for the order for Voyager to fire up engines, too. But there was one more thing that needed to be done.

"Mr. Kim, try hailing the Solstice again," Janeway said.

There was a pause. "Still no response," Kim said. Then he perked up slightly. "Wait. I'm getting something faint. Hang on, let me try to boost the signal..."

The comline crackled, and a staticky voice filled the Bridge. "-is in progress! Repeat, warp core breach in progress! Advise the fleet to retreat to a safe distance!"

It was as she had feared. Quickly Janeway responded. "Captain Grax, can you eject the core?"

"We're working on it, but it won't do any good! We have no engines. We can't get away!"

"Time to breach?" she demanded.

"Fifty-three seconds!"

"Mr. Kim, have we restored enough power for a tractor beam?" she asked.

Kim checked. "Yes, ma'am. Barely."

"Mr. Paris, take us over to the Solstice, full impulse. Captain Grax, eject that core. We're going to give you a lift."

"Acknowledged, and thank you."

Janeway held her breath as they soared back over to the cube. They watched as the Solstice's glimmering warp core shot out from its innards and went tumbling end over end toward the cube. As she fully expected, Borg energy beams lanced out at them as they came within range, but Voyager's shields held as they activated a tractor beam and snagged the Solstice. Paris pulled Voyager into a tight turn, and Janeway's hopes rose: they were going to be able to make their escape.

The cube emitted another beam of energy their way - not the thick amber bolt they were accustomed to seeing, but rather a thin blue stream, barely visible against the black of space. Janeway braced herself for a jolt that never came.

There was no explosion, not so much as a thud against the hull, but without warning, the Bridge lights flickered and the rhythmic thrumming of the tricobalt reactor abruptly ceased. The only sound that could be heard was the lower hum of their impulse engines.

Janeway spoke into the sudden quiet. "What happened?"

Everyone bent forward to coax their flickering consoles into giving them information. Ayala was the first to speak up.

"It looks like the Borg sent a tricobalt particle stream of their own at us," he reported. "It funneled its way backward through our dicosilium emitter and created a feedback loop. According to reports coming in from Deck 4..." Ayala looked up and locked eyes with Janeway grimly. "The tricobalt reactor is completely melted, ma'am. Our cannon is useless."

"Warp core breach of the T'Vrath in 10 seconds," Kim warned.

"We're still within range of the shockwave, Captain," Paris said quickly.

"Reroute power to aft shields! Mr. Paris, maneuver us between the Solstice and the T'Vrath. Everyone, brace for impact!"

A white-hot explosion shattered across the aft viewscreen, followed closely by a second as the ejected warp core of the Solstice ignited. Janeway clung to the armrests of her chair as Voyager fought her way through the twin shockwaves.

At last, the turbulence ebbed away, leaving Voyager none the worse for wear.

"Status of the Solstice?" Janeway asked.

"We shielded them from the shockwaves, but our tractor beam went offline," Paris said. "They're drifting away from us."

"And the cube?"

It took several moments for Kim to scan the cube. "Approximately 60 percent of the cube is destroyed," he said.

Janeway's heart fell. After two direct hits and two warp core breaches, she had been hoping for better. And now they had an inoperative energy beam cannon and a disabled fleet. How were they supposed to finish the cube off now?

"Weapons status?" she asked.

Ayala cleared his throat. "Phaser banks are still operative. We have four torpedoes left."

"Hail the fleet and ask for a status report," Janeway told Kim quietly.

"The Zephyr is responding," Kim said.

Retief appeared on the viewscreen, looking desperate. "We're losing ground... the Borg are almost to the Bridge and we've lost most of our ship's functions! We're setting the self-destruct and abandoning ship, and Hobson will do the same on the Aegean. The Borg won't get our ships, at least. If we can contain them to the starbase, it may buy Starfleet enough time to bring reinforcements to finish them off."

"I understand," Janeway said. "Proceed, Captain, but we're going to see if we can pull off one more miracle."

"Acknowledged."

Retief's image disappeared from the viewscreen.

"Captain, the cube is within transporter range of the station again," Paris warned. "They're going to resume beaming drones over there."

"-and if we try to chase them off, the station is going to open fire on us again," Janeway finished.

She felt her blood pulse in her temples painfully, and silently she cursed the Borg. It felt like an invasion of Loracus termites. Every time you managed to chase them off from one area, they'd simply move to another and start gnawing holes in something else.

And speaking of termites, suddenly an idea presented itself to her. Janeway considered it, and a hopeful gleam came into her eyes.

"All right, gentleman," she said, and her voice was eager. "Here's what we're going to do. When the cube-"

"Captain!" Kim interrupted. "There's a triceron beam being emitted from the space station. It's burning a hole through our shields, approximately one meter in diameter!"

The captain turned toward Kim. "Remodulate the shield frequency!"

"I am, but the beam is remodulating right along with us!"

Janeway strode over to Ops. "Where is the hole forming?"

"Right here, over Deck 1!"

Janeway glanced at Ayala, standing at Tactical. "Target the source of that beam and fire phasers, quickly!"

Ayala bent to obey, but a few moments later he shook his head. "No effect, Captain. There's a multiphasic shield erected around the beam emitter."

Janeway turned back to Kim. "See if you can modify our deflector dish to-"

She fell silent mid-sentence, and to Kim's alarm he looked up just in time to see the captain's image fading off the Bridge in a swirl of green light.

"Captain!" Kim shouted, and frantically he pressed a series of controls, but in a matter of moments all that remained was Janeway's combadge, which hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second before falling to the deck in the place where she had just been standing.

The captain was gone.

"Harry!" Paris called, and he jumped up from the helm and was rapidly replaced by the relief helmsman. "Harry, can you get her back?"

Kim was working his controls frantically, with sweat beading on his brow. "I can't even track the source of that transporter beam! My guess is, she's behind that multiphasic shielding somewhere."

"On the station?" Paris demanded. "How can you be sure she isn't on the cube?"

"I can't, but the triceron beam came from the station. Best guess, that's where she went."

"What about that hole in our shields?"

"It's gone. The station's beam emitter burned out. They can only last a few seconds with that kind of power output." Kim's shoulders sagged. "But the Borg got what they wanted."

An unhappy look crossed Paris' face, and after a moment's thought, he tapped his combadge.

"Paris to Away Team."

The Commander's voice crackled over the line immediately. "Chakotay here. Please tell me you've taken care of those cubes, Lieutenant. We're being overrun here."

"Uh, we got one and we're working on the other, sir. But there's a problem. The Borg... they've just taken Captain Janeway."

"What do you mean, taken?" Chakotay demanded in clipped tones. "Taken where?"

"Hard to tell. They beamed her off the Bridge and left behind her combadge, so we can't track her. We think she may have been beamed over to the station with you, sir."

There was a brief pause. "We'll find her. Concentrate on destroying that cube."

"Aye, sir."

The line cut.

Kim looked at Paris steadily. "Your orders?"

Paris didn't need the reminder that he was in charge now. His mind was already racing with the possibilities.

"I'm open to suggestion," he said. "One way or another, we've got to get rid of that cube before they beam their whole complement of drones over to the station."

Kim snapped his fingers.

"We could beam a torpedo aboard," he said, his face lighting up. "Like we did with that Borg probe, back in the Delta Quadrant, remember?"

"Okay, but how are we going to make them remodulate their shields this time?" Paris demanded. "Unlike a probe, that cube has multiple shield generators; we can only disrupt one at a time, and the others will just compensate."

"We can bore a hole in their shields, like they just did to us," Kim said, his excitement rising.

"With what?" Paris demanded.

"With the EB cannon, of course!"

"I thought Ayala said we couldn't use it!"

"Only the tricobalt _reactor_ was damaged," Kim said. "The crystalline dicosilium emitter is still functional. We just focus our regular ship's power through that, cut a hole in their shields large enough to beam a torpedo through, and... bam!"

"How much power do you need for that?" Paris asked.

"Well, pretty much everything we have."

"Including power to shields?"

Kim's face fell a little. "Yeah, I guess so."

"That puts us right back where we started. They're going to destroy us before we even have a chance to complete the transport." Paris rubbed his jaw. "Maybe B'Elanna has a trick up her sleeve."

He tapped his combadge. "Paris to Engineering. We think we can transport a torpedo aboard the cube remnant, but we're going to have to make the transfer fast enough that they can't blow us away while our shields are down. What's the status of our impulse engines? Anything you can do to boost our speed?"

"Impulse? We can do better than that," Torres said. She sounded breathless, harried. "We could do a warp microburst." She panted briefly. "We could close the distance to the cube in less than a second, beam over the torpedo, and get away with another microburst."

"A warp microburst? I thought those were supposed to be tricky," Kim said, looking uneasy. "Dangerous. If our timing is off by a millisecond... or our aim..."

Torres growled into the com, but it sounded less like irritation and more like pain. "Then we'll crash into the cube and die!" she snapped. "That's what happens if your engineer doesn't know what she's doing, or you have an incompetent pilot! Are you suggesting that's the case on Voyager?"

Kim passed his hand over his face, and found that he was wet with sweat. This was a fine time for Torres to be in a Klingon snit.

"We've done it before, Harry," Paris said, sounding much more calm than his wife. "B'Elanna and I, back in our Maquis days. We once blew up a Cardassian freighter this way. No problem."

"I don't know," Kim said. "The microburst will drastically cut down our time to approach, but it will still take at least five seconds to complete transport of the torpedo. Longer, if we have any trouble penetrating their shields. During that time we'll be wide open, and we don't have a single ship left to shield us!"

A light went on in Paris' eyes. "Yes we do! We do have one ship left. Right in our shuttlebay!"

Kim boggled. "The Delta Flyer? No way, Tom. It's much too small to provide any real cover for a ship this size."

"Yes it can!" Paris was getting excited. "We can extend Voyager's warp bubble around the Flyer, and perform the microburst in tandem. Then I can maneuver around in front of you and absorb any incoming missiles while you transport the torpedo!"

"That's insane! You can't take a pounding like that forever-"

"I won't need to. Only a few seconds. You just said that yourself!"

Kim sighed. "B'Elanna, can you do that? Extend a warp bubble around both ships?"

There was no answer, only a guttural grunt.

"B'Elanna?" Kim repeated.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Torres burst out loudly. "Can we please stop talking about it and _do_ it already? And get that thing away from me!"

That last statement must have been addressed to someone in Engineering. Kim shook his head. By now you would think the other engineers would know better than to get in B'Elanna's way when she was in this kind of a mood.

"You have the Bridge," Paris said to Kim, moving in the direction of the turbolift.

"Wait a minute, B'Elanna said we needed an experienced pilot _here_ for the microburst-" Kim started.

Paris gestured at the relief pilot standing by. "Baytart can do this, no problem, can't you, Pablo?"

"Yes, sir."

"He's done it in a simulation," Paris assured Kim.

"A _simulation_?"

"I'll be launched in two minutes." Paris hit his combadge. "Bridge to Shuttlebay. Prepare the Delta Flyer for immediate departure."

Torres' voice came over the comline. "Okay, I'm preparing the warp bubble. Baytart, don't forget that when we engage- Hey! Get your hands off of me! I'm trying to work!"

Suddenly they could hear the Doctor's angry voice in the background. "Lieutenant Torres! I insist you desist with what you're doing and come with me this instant!"

"Vorik, get him out of here!" Torres shouted. "I've got work to do!"

"Belay that order!" the Doctor barked. "Lieutenant Torres, I'm relieving you of duty. Report to Sickbay at once, or I will have you sedated and dragged there!"

Paris had frozen in place halfway to the turbolift. "Doc? What is going on? B'Elanna?"

For several moments there was no answer, only the faint sounds of a scuffle, and B'Elanna's full-throated protests: "Ten more minutes! P'tak! Let go!"

Her voice grew fainter and fainter in the background. Finally, the comline came back to life.

"Bridge, this is Carey. Sorry about that, sir, but she went into labor a while ago and none of us could convince her to leave her post."

Paris' eyes went as wide as saucers. "You have got to be kidding me!"

Kim pushed him back toward the turbolift. "The Flyer, Tom! We don't have time-"

Paris shoved back. "I don't care about the stupid Flyer! My wife is having my baby! I have to-"

"You have to get to the shuttlebay!" Kim said loudly. "Let's just get this over with, and then you can go see her!"

Paris permitted himself to be pushed into the turbolift, but he didn't look happy about it, and as the doors slid shut Kim saw him suddenly turn and smash the bulkhead with his fist in a maneuver that would make a Klingon proud.

Kim marched back down to the command level and looked around. Ayala at Tactical. Jenkins at Ops. Baytart at the helm. The crewmen manning the perimeter of the Bridge. They were all staring at the turbolift where Paris had just disappeared.

"Everyone, eyes on your stations!" Kim barked, coming back down the steps. "Carey, have you done a warp microburst before?"

"Yes, sir."

Kim breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"In a simulation," Carey added.

Kim's insides clenched up. _Great. Just great._

"Ayala, have you transported an armed torpedo before?" he asked, trying to sound as though he were only asking out of curiosity.

"Yes, sir."

He kept his voice light. "In a simulation?"

Ayala looked slightly insulted. "No, on the Val Jean."

Well, at least _one_ person on duty knew what they were doing. Kim clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly, hoping he looked more confident that he felt.

"All right, everyone! Let's do this."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Can you access internal sensors to see if there have been any unauthorized transports to the starbase?" Chakotay demanded of Commander Sharma. "If the Borg have our captain, we need to find her, fast."

"We can try," the station commander said, gesturing at Giles, who activated the console in the auxiliary control room they had just reached. They were all weary by now, both the station crew and the Voyager squads, having wrested Levels 5, 4 and 3 from Borg control, but it had been a long, difficult slog and they were all sporting the cuts and bruises to prove it.

"Our triceron beam emitters are at the station's mid-levels," Moore put in as Giles worked. A worried frown creased his forehead. "I thought we had the Borg contained _above_ us."

"We may have thought wrong," Sharma said grimly. "If they managed to beam drones down there somehow, we're going to end up fighting on _two_ fronts."

"Here, sir," Giles said quickly, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Level 19. It experienced power fluctuations like the rest of the station when we blew the turbolifts, but when the power stabilized, the internal sensors on that level remained offline. I can't see who - or what - is down there right now. There could be a security breach."

"What's on Level 19?" Chakotay asked.

Sharma answered. "The infirmary. Storage lockers. Shuttlebay 6."

"Are there any ships in the shuttlebay?" Tuvok asked Sharma.

"The first thing I did when the assault began was order any civilians with their own ships to evacuate," Sharma said. "They're all long gone."

Chakotay's uneasiness grew. If the Borg were down there, what were their intentions? And why go to the trouble of taking Kathryn with them?

"Can you transport us to Level 19?" he asked.

Sharma nodded, and looked over at one of his men. "Jones, take your team with them. If the Borg are down there, do whatever it takes to eliminate them."

"Aye, sir."

"Tuvok, continue the press toward the command center with your teams," Chakotay said, tightening the straps on his assimilation glove. "Squads 1 and 3, with me."

Seven and Neelix came to stand on either side of him, along with the rest of their squads, and Jones and his team. A few moments later, the cool blue beam of the transporter washed over the 12 of them, and the auxiliary control room dissolved in front of their eyes.

When they rematerialized, they were in a corridor junction. Chakotay felt his heart sink: it was dark in here, lit only by the flickering green lights of Borg conduits now overlaid on the Starfleet interfaces. There were regeneration alcoves newly installed further down the corridor, but no one was in sight.

Parsons pulled out his tricorder, scanned the area, and silently held it up for Chakotay to see. He nodded and gave a hand signal to the others. Quietly, they spread out and moved forward until they had reached a Jefferies tube hatch. Jones and his team took aim with their phaser rifles, while the Voyager squads readied their truncheons. Anderson put her hand on the hatch controls and looked questioningly at Chakotay. He nodded, and she opened the hatch.

The lights from the phaser rifles stabbed into the dark interior. Chakotay peered cautiously inside the hatch.

Three frightened faces, framed by flowing white locks of hair, looked back at him, squinting painfully in the glare of the lights. They were Efrosians, two females and one male with a long mustache that matched his white hair. Civilians. Chakotay lowered his weapon. They must have failed to evacuate from this level as instructed.

"Commander Chakotay, U.S.S. Voyager," he said quickly, to reassure them before they panicked and started making noise. "Have you seen the drones? Which way did they go?"

Silence. Chakotay realized they were all trembling, with beads of sweat glinting on their cranial ridges. Clearly they _had_ seen the drones.

"Where did you see them?" he repeated urgently. "We have to find them. Quickly. Did they have a human woman with them? She was wearing a uniform like mine." Belatedly, he pointed his wrist light at his chest so they could see.

One of the females stirred, forced herself to speak. "Yes, I saw her," she said, her voice tremulous. "They had her. The drones. I think they were taking her to our ship."

"Your ship?" Chakotay repeated. "In Shuttlebay 6?"

The Efrosian woman nodded rapidly.

"You were supposed to evacuate," Jones said, the aggravation in his voice plain to be heard. "Commander Sharma ordered every civilian ship-"

"We _tried_ ," the woman said. "Our warp drive was malfunctioning. We were trying to repair it. And then... the drones just walked in and pushed us away from the controls. They started to do things... to the equipment..." She paused to catch her breath. "They didn't even look at us. We didn't know what to do, so we ran. We passed more drones in the shuttlebay. There was a woman with them, the one you mentioned. She was trying to get away from them. We ran out here and tried to find someone on the station crew, but we couldn't find anyone, so we just... we found a place to hide. We didn't know what else to do!" Her voice rose in a pleading tone.

"Which way to Shuttlebay 6?" Chakotay asked Jones urgently.

The man pointed, and without another word, Chakotay set off in that direction, with his people close behind him. As they moved off, they could hear Jones contacting Sharma to advise him of the situation and request an emergency transport for the civilians.

By the time the Voyager squads reached the entrance to the shuttlebay, Jones and his team had caught up to them. Seven tried to open the doors, but they were sealed. Neelix found the manual release, and together he and Seven pried open the doors.

It was a large shuttlebay, much larger than Voyager's, with room for at least a dozen shuttles. Inside it was as dark as the corridor. Cautiously they entered the cavernous space and swept their wrist lights around. There were signs of a hasty departure; power relays and fuel lines left lying carelessly across the deck, and abandoned storage containers heaped up here and there.

Then the searching beams revealed there were humanoid forms lying motionless on the floor, three of them. Chakotay felt his heart nearly stop, but as they came closer to the bodies, he could see they were three armored drones, each of them with a phaser burn on his chest. Suddenly Chakotay's spirits rose. So Kathryn had put up a good fight. Perhaps she had managed to escape her captors and then hide somewhere.

The only shuttle in the bay could be seen dimly at the far end. Chakotay strode rapidly toward it, followed by the others. As he walked, his boot hit something hard, and he shone his light down. It was a hand phaser, Starfleet issue.

Kathryn's.

He broke into a run, the others behind him. He could see distant movement now: shadowy figures, moving around the Efrosian shuttle. At that moment, the massive shuttlebay doors began to slide open, revealing the black of space outside.

For a split second, Chakotay caught sight of Voyager and two other Federation ships floating motionless some distance from the Borg cube, and in the next instant he saw the winking flash of a warp jump, and Voyager vanished.

He had no time to wonder why they were abandoning the battle, because at that very moment the Efrosian shuttle's engines fired up with a deafening roar.

Something seemed to snap inside of Chakotay. In the flashing wrist lights of his team he could see there were at least a dozen drones standing between them and the shuttle, but he felt no fear. He was conscious of being filled to the brim with an unbreakable conviction that contrary to all expectations, there was nothing they could do to stop him. Kathryn was a breath away from making it home, and he was not going to let the Borg take that away from her. Not now.

"Not now," he murmured out loud. Then he shouted it. "Not now!"

He put on a fresh burst of speed. There was no time to do it properly. No time to wait for the others in the squad to catch up to him and tag-team on the drones as they had been doing since beaming aboard the station. He barreled into one drone, knocking it down without hardly slowing his momentum, dodged around another, swung his truncheon at a third and felt a satisfying crunch as it made contact with the drone's cranial implants.

Then his luck ran out. He tried to run between a pair of drones, but they caught him up and threw him to the ground. He scrambled back to his feet, but they were immediately on him, swinging their heavy metal-plated arms at him. One struck him in the stomach, and he felt his breath leave him. His vision went blurry with tears.

Desperately, he started swinging his truncheon without aiming. He landed several solid hits, but somehow the rod was torn from his grasp, and he heard it hit the deck far away with a clatter.

It didn't matter. He kept fighting. Something hard struck him in the face, and he went down on one knee. One of the drones held him from behind, and Chakotay felt the sharp sting of assimilation tubules piercing his neck. Nanoprobes began coursing down like lines of fire inside his veins, but that didn't matter, either. Blindly, he lashed out with feet and hands. Somehow, miraculously, he managed to free himself. He was conscious of others in uniform around him struggling with black-armored bodies. They were buying him time. Time to get to Kathryn.

With a lunge, Chakotay resumed his desperate sprint. He could see the shuttle lifting up off its struts, but he was almost free of the scrum. Almost there. He pulled out his hand phaser and thumbed it to maximum setting.

The drone closest to the shuttle suddenly stepped in front of him. There was no time to dodge, and Chakotay did the only thing he could: fired the phaser he already held in his hand.

It had no effect other than lighting up the drone's body shield. Still running at top speed, Chakotay did the next best thing, something that came to him instinctively. He swung his left fist using all the momentum of his sprint, and made a solid connection with the drone's plated head. It dropped to the deck without a sound. Agony shot up Chakotay's arm, too much for him to even cry out, but boxing had taught him how to push through pain, and he staggered on.

He was almost to the shuttle. It was hovering a good six feet off the deck, and the aft thrusters fired just as he reached it. Chakotay threw himself to the deck, rolled over and over until he was directly underneath, and fired the phaser straight up into the belly of the ship.

Sparks rained down, and the shuttle lurched in mid-air above him. The roar of the thrusters cut, and the shuttle started to fall. In that split second, lying on his back, Chakotay realized he was not going to have time to get out from under it.

Desperately, he tried to scramble anyway, but his left hand was nearly useless. In one breathless moment, he knew he was not going to make it. The shuttle was falling as if in slow motion, and yet there was no time to even feel regret that this was how it all was going to end.

Then a strong hand seized his ankle and dragged him away.

The shuttle struts smashed down into the deck with a deafening sound of rending metal, only a foot from Chakotay's head. Bits of shrapnel sprayed out and stung his skin. Fuel vapor clouded the air and the acrid smell of phaser-scorched metal burned his nostrils. He could hear cries, and running feet.

Stunned, Chakotay could only lay there and try to inventory all the body parts he could still feel. His heart was galloping out of control and he couldn't believe it, but it seemed he was still in one piece. Even the pain of the nanoprobes injected into his throat had faded. His nanites were doing their job.

Neelix appeared overhead, his hair mussed and his face smudged. "Commander!" he said. "Can you move? The fumes-"

It was already making both of them cough. Cradling his broken hand against his chest, Chakotay managed to get to his feet with Neelix's help and follow the Talaxian out of the vapor and over to the shuttle's door. The rest of the squad was still occupied with drones some distance away, and Chakotay mouthed a silent prayer of gratitude for whatever miracle his ancestors had worked to bring Neelix through the gauntlet in time to save him.

Neelix accessed the shuttle's door controls, but they didn't respond. Chakotay automatically reached for his phaser, but it wasn't there anymore. He must have dropped it. No doubt it was now flattened under the shuttle. Neelix pulled out his, and began carving a hole in the shuttle door.

Neelix looked as tense as Chakotay had ever seen him. They both knew that if the Borg failed to escape with Kathryn, as they had clearly meant to do, they might simply kill her instead. She had so often been a thorn in the Queen's side.

The phaser beam had traced an oval into the shuttle's side, its metal edges glowing red-hot. Suddenly Anderson was with them, and Andrews too, both panting for breath but ready to help. Well-aimed kicks from the two security officers knocked out the severed metal, and the four of them rushed through the smoking hole.

Three drones were standing at the front of the small cockpit, their assimilation tubules sunk into the controls as they attempted to regenerate the damaged machinery. But they turned as the Voyagers crowded in, and immediately detached themselves from the controls and prepared to attack.

Chakotay had entered last, knowing he would be less useful than the others thanks to his injured hand and his lost weapons, and as the other three rushed forward to engage the drones, he looked around for Kathryn instead.

There was no sign of her in the cockpit. He ducked into the cargo area in the back... and there was Kathryn, slumped in a shadowy corner with a drone bending over her. At the sound of Chakotay's entrance, the drone turned its head. In a flash Chakotay recognized that it had once been Hirogen.

It straightened up, and made as though to move toward Chakotay. Suddenly Kathryn, who Chakotay had thought at first glance was unconscious, lashed out with her boot and kicked the drone in the back of the knee.

The Hirogen drone, so much bigger and stronger than a human, didn't even stumble, but turned back for a moment to take a retaliatory swing at Kathryn. It was all the distraction Chakotay needed. In three strides he was pressing his fist against the drone's neck and injecting it with nanites. After a brief struggle, the Hirogen stopped fighting and fell heavily to the deck.

Chakotay knelt down at Kathryn's side. He was dizzy from the pain his injury, but he had so much adrenaline in his system right now that he didn't care.

"Are you all right?" he asked her. It was shadowy here in the corner, but he could tell she looked even paler than usual. "We've got to get you out of here. There are more drones in the cockpit."

"I'm fine," she said breathlessly. She took Chakotay's offered hand and he pulled her onto her feet. He started to lead her to the exit, but after only a few steps she fell against him, and could not seem to get her feet under her. Finally, Chakotay simply scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the jolts of pain in his left hand, and carried her out of the smoking hole in the shuttle.

Back out in the shuttlebay, there were a lot of bodies on the floor, but still pockets of fighting. Chakotay carried Kathryn well away from the chaos, and laid her gently down on the deck. She seemed so limp and weak in his arms, yet he didn't see any blood and she had made no cry of pain.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

She fixed her blue eyes on him. "They got me," she whispered hoarsely.

Chakotay could see it now, the gray lines beginning to crisscross her pale face, and a cold hand seemed to close on his heart. Quickly, he turned her head to the side, brushed her hair back and put his fist against her neck.

"Sorry about this," he whispered. "I know it hurts." He activated his assimilation glove and injected her with nanites. She gasped slightly, and then fell silent. He could see her pulse fluttering in her throat, and he blessed the nanites that were rushing through her bloodstream with every heartbeat, undoing everything the nanoprobes were trying to do.

"I told you we should have made you a carrier," he said, trying to keep his tone light. He wasn't sure if he intended to calm her down with his words, or himself.

"No time," she whispered. "Needed our... best fighters."

"You are our best fighter," he murmured.

"Can't even... make a Hirogen... flinch."

"Not all fights are physical."

She started to smile, but suddenly her back arched and she gasped loudly as pain shot through her. Her hand flew to the back of her neck and she cried out again, her eyes wide and staring.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed. He slid his hand around to the back of her neck, pushing away her hand. He had to feel under the high collar of her shirt before he found it: the star-shaped Borg implant there. He could tell it was freshly emerged because it was still hot to the touch.

A cold trickle went down his spine. The implant was at the base of her skull; it was almost certainly an interlink node that would connect her mind with the Borg Collective. For a moment Chakotay froze up, and he realized he had no idea what to do. They had been using the nanites for hours, and they had never yet failed to halt implant eruptions. Something had gone wrong. The Borg had adapted.

"I can hear them," Kathryn whispered softly. The frantic pain in her eyes had subsided, and she looked calm, even dreamy. "I can hear... _her_."

Helplessly, Chakotay looked around, and then he saw his salvation.

"Seven!" he shouted. He could see her struggling with a drone, trying to restrain it while Parsons injected it with nanites. "Seven! I need you!"

Somehow she managed to extract herself from the fray and ran over to him. Her hair had tumbled free from its twist during the fight and loose strands fell down over one eye. She knelt on the other side of Kathryn and took in the situation at a glance.

"You must inject her with nanites, quickly!" Seven said.

"I did," Chakotay panted. "But there are still implants emerging."

Seven turned Kathryn's head to the side and switched on her wrist light. Now they could see that she had puncture wounds on her neck - not a single pair, as usual, but _four_ pairs.

"She has been assimilated by multiple drones," Seven said. She whipped out her tricorder and scanned Kathryn. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at Chakotay in dismay.

"Her body is flooded with nanoprobes," she said. "The freebots you injected are being overpowered."

"Then another dose..." Chakotay moved to inject her again, but Seven stopped him before he could activate the glove.

"You cannot," she said urgently. "Her bloodstream is already saturated with nanotechnology. If you give her any more, her organs will begin shut down."

"Then what are we supposed to-"

"I don't know!"

Kathryn moaned, rocking her head from side to side with a grimace of pain. They could see subtle movements under her skin; proto-implants forming and traveling to the parts of the body where they were needed. Her fingers scrabbled against the hard deck, and Chakotay picked up one of her hands and held it tightly in his.

Suddenly Jones was there with them, bending down over Kathryn, looking at her with curiosity.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"The freebots aren't working," Seven said tersely.

Jones became alert and drew back, putting his hand on the butt of his phaser. "If you can't stop it-" he began, his voice hard.

Chakotay pushed the man's hand away from his weapon. "Your medical staff!" he said fiercely. "You said the infirmary is on this level!"

Jones nodded. "Just down the corridor, but-"

"Well, call them! Maybe they can do something!"

"They're already _here_!" Jones snapped back.

In response to Chakotay's mystified look, Jones gestured wordlessly at all the drones lying on the deck. For the first time, Chakotay noticed how many of them were wearing the tattered remains of blue Starfleet uniforms.

His combadge chirped.

"Kim to Away Team."

Chakotay had to bite his lip to keep from snapping "Not now, Harry!" and settled for a terse "What?" instead.

"Commander, we've destroyed the second cube." It was impossible not to notice the pride in Kim's voice, but Chakotay could not care less about the Borg cube at this moment. "Have you been able to find the captain, sir?"

"I'm with her," Chakotay said. He was sick at heart, but he forced the words out anyway. "She's being assimilated. We can't stop it."

"The Doctor," Seven interrupted urgently. "Are you within transporter range, Lieutenant Kim? If you can send us the Doctor, perhaps-"

"We can be there in just a few minutes," Kim said.

"Do it," Chakotay said. "And Harry... hurry."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note:** Thanks everyone for your continued interest! Today you get an extra-long chapter to enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

The Delta Flyer had scarcely touched the deck before Tom Paris was out of his seat and banging the control to open the door. He brushed right past the crewmen waiting to help with the post-flight check, and hit his combadge as he jogged out of the shuttlebay.

"Paris to Bridge."

"Kim here."

"Am I needed back at the helm?" Paris asked.

"No, no, of course not. Go ahead to Sickbay. The Doc just asked for you, anyway."

Paris didn't bother signing out, just dodged into the turbolift a moment before the door closed. It was packed with crewmembers with their arms full of repair equipment, but they did their best to make room for him.

"Deck 5," he said, and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His fingers danced an impatient rhythm against his thigh. The engineers were staring at him, but he didn't care.

"Red alert was canceled, Lieutenant," one of them said helpfully.

"Was it?" Paris said. "I'm not so sure."

The instant the doors opened again, he exploded out and ran through the corridor with reckless speed. He was envisioning B'Elanna holding a baby in her arms as soon as he reached Sickbay, and he wasn't sure whether he would be thrilled the wait was finally over, or furious that he'd missed it.

He rounded a bend and nearly barged into Carlson, but he managed to sidestep in time and blurted out a hasty apology. Thirty seconds later, he dashed into Sickbay.

His wife was in the surgical bay, dressed in a medical gown, not reclining on the biobed but sitting on the edge with her feet dangling, and she was hunched over so that her hair fell across her face. In one glance he saw with relief that there was no baby, not in the incubator set up by the biobed or in B'Elanna's arms. She had both hands pressed against her belly and she was growling with a loud and guttural tone.

"Mr. Paris, thank goodness you're here," the Doctor said. He was wearing his mobile emitter and was busy packing supplies into a medkit. "I need you to take over here. I've taken the edge off the pain, but she can still feel the contractions so she knows when to push. Don't let her push until the contraction actually starts. She keeps trying to jump the gun. If the baby's head gets stuck, try pelvic rocking before doing anything more invasive."

" _What_?" Paris blurted. "No no no, Doc, you're doing that part. I can assist-"

"I have other patients to attend to," the Doctor said.

"Can't you beam them here? I can't possibly-"

"We agreed not to beam aboard anyone who is in the process of assimilation," the Doctor snapped. "Unless you want your wife giving birth next to a newly formed drone. Do you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just snapped his medical case shut emphatically and turned to go. Then he paused when he saw Tom's expression, and softened his gaze.

"You'll do fine," he said, putting his hand on Paris' shoulder, his brown eyes steady, and then he was out the door and Paris was alone with his wife.

It seemed B'Elanna's contraction was over. She stopped growling and tipped her head back, gasping for breath. Sweaty strands of hair were stuck to her forehead.

"Hi, sweetheart," he murmured, coming over to gently stroke her arms.

"It's about time," she panted. "I was planning to kill you... if you missed this." She blew out a long breath. "Great timing... huh?"

"Couldn't have been worse." Paris kissed her nose and looked over the biobed readouts. "You doing okay?"

"Never... been better. Can we do this... alone?"

"I guess we'll have to."

"I can help," a little voice piped up.

They both looked over in surprise. Naomi Wildman was peering out from the doorway to the Doctor's office. Paris realized in an instant that the Doctor must have been put in charge of watching over her when Neelix left with the Away Team. The Doctor must have been in such a rush to leave that he had forgotten to mention it.

"I can hand you your tools," Naomi said, coming over to the surgical bay. "Or I can hold the baby for you, when it comes. I helped with the Borg baby before we took her back home. I like babies."

Paris cleared his throat. "Uh... Naomi... that's really sweet, but-"

"Ooooooooooh!" B'Elanna suddenly curled up her body and started growling again. Tom quickly went over to the monitor and looked over the readings there.

"It's getting close," he said, and nervously he began to check the surgical tools laid out on the rollaround. "In a couple of minutes I'm going to have you get into position, okay, B'eh?"

She didn't answer; she was too busy growling.

Paris looked at the two heartbeats being displayed on the monitor, for B'Elanna and the baby, and it occurred to him that pretty soon he would have not one but two patients to handle, and he wasn't going to have enough hands to do everything that needed to be done, especially if something went wrong.

 _Please, please, don't let anything go wrong._

"You want to help, Naomi?" he said. "Run and go get your mother. You and your mother can help me, okay?"

"Okay!" Naomi said, brightening.

"She's on the Bridge. You'll have to ask Lieutenant Kim for permission, okay?"

"Okay! I'll be right back!" Naomi ran out.

The contraction had ended. B'Elanna leaned back and gasped for breath.

"Oh, please, Tom," she moaned. "Please, just transport the baby out! It would be... so much easier... than this!"

Tom couldn't tell if she was serious or not. He decided to play it safe. "Sorry, sweetie, but it's for emergencies only. You've got to try to push her out first."

B'Elanna growled angrily. " _You_ push her out!"

"Well..." Tom lifted his hands helplessly. "I would if I could."

"No you wouldn't!"

"Okay, okay, whatever you say. Just... try to relax." He tried massaging B'Elanna's shoulders.

She glared at him. " _You_ try to relax!"

"Whatever you say, sweetie."

"And stop calling me sweetie!"

"Look, do you want my help, or not?" he demanded.

"Yes," she said sullenly.

"Then stop yelling at me! I can't hear myself _think_!"

B'Elanna scoffed loudly, but a few moments later she relented. "You know that's how Klingons show their love, right?" she said.

Tom smiled. "I do love it when you yell at me. And throw furniture around."

"That's the kind of thing... that put us into this mess... to begin with." B'Elanna tensed up. "Oh no, here it comes again! _Ohhhhhhh..._ "

"Keep breathing," Tom murmured, rubbing her shoulder. "Just keep breathing."

* * *

Chakotay was dimly aware that the fighting in Starbase 3's shuttlebay was over. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that some of the Away Team were busy checking over the unconscious drones with medical tricorders, confirming that de-assimilation was in progress and providing basic medical care where they could.

But he was kneeling by Kathryn's side along with Seven of Nine, while their squad members gathered in a knot around them, shining their wrist lights on Kathryn, all of them watching helplessly as moment by moment she silently succumbed to the nanoprobes invading her body. Already a second implant had emerged, spreading its spidery silver rays across her right temple.

"Hold on, Kathryn," Chakotay murmured. "The Doctor is coming. Just hold on a little longer."

Kathryn gave her head a tiny shake. "It's all right," she whispered. She looked unnaturally calm. "It isn't... like I thought. She has things to show me. The Queen. She won't hurt me."

"Do not listen to her, no matter what she says," Seven commanded. "You must think about the things that make you unique. She wants you to forget them. You cannot!"

"It's all right," Kathryn repeated dreamily. "I can hear... so many voices. Like a song." Her eyes unexpectedly moistened. "It's good... not to be alone... anymore."

"Kathryn, you are not alone," Chakotay whispered fiercely. "You have never been alone!"

"So many thoughts..." she murmured as though she didn't hear him. "So much knowledge. So much to explore. I'll never reach the end of it..."

"I know the allure of the Collective," Seven said harshly. "But you would be happier discovering those things yourself, as you have always done."

"Remember who you are," Chakotay urged her. "Your name is Kathryn Janeway. Your father's name was Edward. Your mother is Gretchen. You're going to see her in just a few more dats. We're almost home, to Earth. You fought so hard for that! Remember?"

Kathryn listened to all this with a deepening crease between her eyebrows. Finally, she said slowly, "I would like... to see Indiana. But she says... it isn't relevant."

The hum of a transporter could be heard, and a few seconds later the image of the Doctor resolved near them in a mist of blue light. Quickly, he strode over to them, medkit in hand, and barked at everyone standing around: "Back up! Give her some room!"

Everyone but Chakotay and Seven made way. The Doctor knelt by Kathryn's side, scanned her with a medical tricorder, and frowned deeply.

"You did right not to inject her with nanites again," he said. "I've never seen such a concentration of nanoprobes before. She's lucky it hasn't killed her."

He dug into the medkit and came up with a vial of black fluid.

"What is that?" Chakotay asked.

"Species 8472 genetic material," the Doctor replied briefly, loading the vial into a hypospray.

Chakotay grew alarmed. "I thought you said that was dangerous-"

"I modified it to target nanoprobes only," the Doctor said. "Assuming it worked, it won't harm human tissues." He tapped the control to set the dose. "I don't see what other choice we have, Commander. Your nanites have been overrun in her bloodstream, and we can't inject any more nanotechnology."

Chakotay nodded reluctantly. "All right."

The Doctor moved the hypospray toward Kathryn's neck, but before he could inject it, Kathryn suddenly put up her hand and grabbed his wrist.

"Stop what you're doing, Doctor," she said.

The Doctor spoke quickly. "Captain, this is the 8472 countermeasure we discussed. I know it hasn't been tested yet, but theoretically it should-"

"-or I'll kill Janeway," she finished.

A profound silence settled over the group gathered around her. Chakotay looked stunned, sitting there frozen, his hand still wrapped around one of Kathryn's. Unnoticed by anyone else, Jones slipped his phaser out of its holster.

The Doctor's face grew somber as he knelt at Kathryn's side, still holding the hypospray as she clutched his arm. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then spoke reluctantly.

"To whom... am I speaking?"

A hint of a smile touched Kathryn's face.

"I am the Borg," she whispered.

"No," Chakotay said. Beside him, Seven's eyes were widening in dismay, lips parted and shoulders heaving as she suddenly fought for breath.

Kathryn spoke again, slowly, dreamily. "Her distinctiveness will add to our perfection. She has been a formidable foe, but soon all her thoughts will be mine." She turned red-rimmed eyes to Chakotay, and spoke coldly to him: "Bring us a ship. Give us safe passage. Do not pursue us."

Seeing Chakotay could not speak, Seven spoke for him. "We will not comply," she said, her voice deepening in anger.

"Resistance is futile, Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01," Kathryn whispered. "If we cannot have Janeway, we will not permit you to keep her. You have one minute to comply, or I will kill this new drone."

The Doctor swallowed nervously, and looked over at Seven. "Can she do that?" he whispered.

Seven took a deep breath, and forced the words out. "A neural transceiver has formed at the base of her skull. It could easily be used to sever the brain stem."

"Doctor," Chakotay said hoarsely, speaking for the first time. "Inject her. Now."

The Doctor shook his head. "The countermeasure takes time to work," he said. "By the time it begins to dissolve the implants..." -he flinched, and his voice went soft- "...she'll already be dead."

"Forty seconds," Kathryn said.

A flash of anger crossed Seven's face, and she leaned forward over Kathryn and planted her hands on the deck. "If you take this drone," she said savagely, "I will find her again. Do you understand? I will never stop hunting, no matter where you take her, and I will never... stop... resisting you!"

Kathryn studied her without expression, and then slowly she sat up. Just below the surface of her skin they could see the gray liquid coursing through her veins, forming a sickly white-and-gray mottling. Everyone backed away slightly. Kathryn's hand slipped out of Chakotay's numb one as she sat bolt upright and fixed a coolly contemptuous look on Seven.

"Large words from a small human," she whispered. "You should have come back to us when you had the chance, Seven of Nine. You have abandoned perfection for weakness."

She looked around at the group surrounding her, and then fixed her gaze on Chakotay. "Bring us a ship, Commander. You must comply. You have thirty seconds."

Behind her, Jones' finger hovered over his phaser's activation button. Seeing this, Neelix clamped his hand painfully on the man's wrist.

"Wait," he said.

The seconds ticked by, and Seven's agitation grew.

"You cannot!" she burst out. "You cannot take her too!" She lifted her hand, and it seemed as though she might strike Kathryn, but she hesitated with her hand in mid-air, trembling with impotent fury and grief. "You cannot!"

Kathryn ignored her, keeping her eyes fixed on Chakotay.

"Twenty seconds," she whispered. "Don't resist, Commander. You heard Janeway. She _wants_ to be with us."

A crooked smile touched her lips, and for a moment she looked so like Kathryn, and yet so unlike, that Chakotay could only stare at her in horrified fascination.

"Kathryn..." he whispered.

She tilted her head at him. "Kathryn? No. She isn't here." She leaned close to him, and strands of red-gold hair swung forward as she spoke. "But I see her memories," she whispered. "She knows you, Chakotay. She knows you won't let her die. You must comply."

She was right. All the half-formed ideas Chakotay had for resisting dissolved like sand under an ocean wave. Kathryn would anticipate them all. She knew him too well. He would not be able to fool her, and with the Queen inside her mind...

"Commander," Seven said. Her blue eyes bored into his intently. "Our appeals to her humanity are pointless."

For an instant of blind rage, he wanted to shout at Seven for giving in to her despair, for surrendering so easily when she knew that if their places were reversed, Kathryn would never have given up on her.

And then he remembered. He remembered the moment, five years ago, when Seven had first said something very similar to him. Now Seven was looking at him intently, silently willing him to understand, and at last he did.

"Our minds are linked," she said to him softly.

Chakotay nodded slowly. "We are one."

Seven's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.

"Time's up, Commander," Kathryn said. "What is your decision?"

Chakotay swallowed, and looked down at the deck for a moment. He took a deep breath, and looked back up at Kathryn. He touched the combadge on his uniform with a trembling hand.

"Chakotay to Voyager."

"Kim here."

"Prepare the Delta Flyer for departure. On the double. Set the autopilot and release it from the shuttlebay. We're going to tractor it into the station's Shuttlebay 6. Understood?"

"Aye sir."

The comline cut. Abruptly, Seven stood and stumbled away from the circle of people. Kathryn ignored her and looked at Chakotay with a satisfied expression. "A wise decision, Commander."

Chakotay took a deep breath and let it out. He knew what he had to do next, and although he was afraid, he was also grateful that it wouldn't require any acting on his part. He knew he couldn't fool Kathryn... but she would believe him capable of this, because he _was_ capable of this.

"I'll let you leave the station," Chakotay told her quietly, "but I'm going with you. I'll pilot the Flyer myself. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

Kathryn scoffed softly. "You still think you can save Kathryn Janeway?" She flinched slightly, and an implant erupted from her left wrist with an audible snick and spread its metallic arms across the back of her small white hand. "You can't."

"I know," Chakotay said, and anguish was in his eyes. "But I won't let her go alone."

"She's part of the Collective now," Kathryn whispered. "She'll never be alone again."

"Then add my voice to theirs," Chakotay said fiercely. "What's another drone to you? You know I can't stop you. You might as well take me with you."

"Commander?" Neelix said anxiously, cautiously crouching beside him. "You shouldn't... you don't need to..."

"I think I do," Chakotay said, not breaking eye contact with Kathryn.

"But you know the Captain wouldn't want you to!" Neelix burst out.

Anger surged through Chakotay. "She isn't _here_!"

Kathryn studied Chakotay thoughtfully, head tilted to one side. Slowly, she lifted her left hand, and silver lines began to emerge from the implant there and flow to her knuckles. She reached out toward Chakotay, who sat there motionless. Waiting.

"You would make an excellent drone," she said thoughtfully.

She touched his neck with her dry fingertips, and he flinched at the contact, but didn't pull away. A faint electronic sound could be heard thrumming through her wrist implant.

As quick as the strike of a cobra, she jabbed him with assimilation tubules. He felt once again the hot fire burning through his veins. But she didn't release him after a few seconds as drones usually did. She knew he was a carrier and would not be assimilated so easily. And so she held the tubules in his neck, bloodshot eyes locked on his, the nanoprobes draining from her body into his as the seconds ticked by. Soon she would give him enough to overcome his nanites. Soon their thoughts would become one.

Chakotay found his breath was coming out in short, painful gasps. He could feel a proto-implant swelling in the back of his neck, and already he thought he could hear the faint song of many voices speaking in unison. Was that Kathryn he could hear among them? Instinctively, he groped his way toward that unique voice. Whatever happened to him, he must not lose track of her mind.

A part of Chakotay was violently resisting what was happening, remembering his impotent terror the day Riley Frazier and the Borg Cooperative had hijacked his individuality through a neural link and coerced him into disobeying orders... and yet a part of him was curious, even eager, to experience the same intimacy with Kathryn that he had once felt with Riley. Since that day he had understood better than ever before the draw the Collective had held for Seven, even after she had reasserted her long-dormant individuality. The hive mind was a seductive temptation, offering a way to achieve intimacy without effort.

It was a pale imitation of what he really wanted, but he didn't care. If this didn't work, then a glimpse of Kathryn's thoughts would be all he would ever get from her.

Chakotay closed his eyes, concentrating, and when he opened them again, he was inside his own mind.

Inside, it looked exactly like his quarters on Voyager.

He was alone, sitting on the chair with the patterned cover his mother had hand-woven, and all his most precious personal belongings were spread out on the coffee table in front of him. His medicine bundle, wrapped in its animal skin, was sitting in a place of honor in the center.

All was peaceful in here, but outside, the harmonious voices of the hive mind were becoming clearer by the moment. There was also a distant thumping. Chakotay stood and went to the door to investigate. When he opened it, he saw a team of Voyager's security officers, wearing assimilation gloves and armed with phasers, gathered around with their backs to his door. One of them glanced back at him, and nodded grimly.

"Don't worry, sir," he said to Chakotay. "We'll hold them off as long as we can."

In a flash, he understood that although he was now connected to the Borg Collective, the freebots were still protecting the innermost depths of his mind. For now. It was the only reason his "quarters" were still undisturbed.

"As you were," he said to his guards. He came out into the corridor and sealed his door behind him. Again, he thought he could hear Kathryn's voice out here, but only in faint snatches here and there. He could not tell what she was saying. At a jog, he passed his guards and headed down the corridor toward her voice.

When he turned a bend, he caught sight of numberless Borg drones.

They were revealed in the crimson light of a Red Alert, gathered in a mass outside the door to Kathryn's quarters. Some were arms-deep in the innards of the control panel, attempting to assimilate the technology and unseal the door. Others were trying brute force, banging their heavy prosthetic arms against the titanium door that was scratched and dented but not yet breached.

" _We are the Borg_ ," they said as one. " _Surrender your mind. We will add your distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile_."

"Futile or not, I have no intention of surrendering!" Kathryn's voice was muffled through the door, but the steel in her tone was unmistakable.

Chakotay came up behind the drones. "Kathryn?" he called.

There was no reply. The drones ignored him in favor of continuing to break down the door.

" _We are the Borg. Surrender your mind. We will add-_ "

"Kathryn!" Chakotay shouted. "Kathryn! It's me! Chakotay! Let me in!"

" _-is futile. We are the Borg. Surrender-_ "

"Kathryn!"

It was no use. His voice was drowned out by numberless drones. She would never hear him over the din. And what good would it do if she did hear him? She could not let him into her mind without letting the Borg in, too. Chakotay looked around helplessly. What could he do? It looked like the drones would break through the door in a matter of minutes, and he would never be able to overpower so many on his own.

Suddenly, he had an idea. Making sure the drones were still ignoring him, Chakotay quickly turned and headed back to his own quarters, passing the security guards, and typed his security code into the door.

Once inside, he sealed the door behind him and rushed into his bedroom and straight over to the bulkhead his quarters shared with Kathryn's.

He pushed aside a bookshelf. Relief shot through him when he saw that there was a hatch in the bulkhead. It wasn't there in real life, but somehow he had known he would find it here. He popped the hatch open, but there was another hatch right behind it, and this one was sealed from the other side.

"Kathryn?" he called, knocking on the hatch. "Kathryn, it's me! Let me in!"

Nothing happened. Chakotay lifted his hand to pound on the hatch again, but just at that moment the hatch on Kathryn's side of the bulkhead opened, and a hand shot through and grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside.

Chakotay ducked down through the opening and emerged on the other side. Kathryn released his wrist and straightened up. She was dressed in her uniform, but her hair was mussed and her face sweaty.

"Are they in your quarters?" she asked him breathlessly.

"Not yet. Are you all right? Kathryn?"

She didn't answer because she had already left her bedroom and was jogging back out to the living area. Chakotay quickly sealed the hatches behind him and then followed her.

The thumps and clangs against the door were much louder in here. Chakotay could see a large dent forming in the metal from the assault on the other side. There was furniture piled up against the door, forming a makeshift barricade, and now Kathryn was pushing and pulling on her dining table with all her strength, trying to maneuver it into position as well.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"They've taken the Bridge," she said breathlessly. "There were just too many of them. I've lost control of this vessel." Her face hardened. "But I won't let them take these quarters. This is my space. _Mine._ It isn't for them."

Chakotay hesitated, watching her strain to move the table. Outside, the Borg were methodically demanding compliance. It sounded as though there were thousands of them out there. _Millions._

"Kathryn..." he said slowly. "Do you know... where we are?"

Her tone was scathing. "I think I know the inside of my mind at least as well as you do, wouldn't you agree?" Suddenly her expression changed and she stopped struggling with the table.

"But you..." she said, eyes widening. "How did you get in here?"

"I... through the hatch," he said. "You let me in."

She gave him a skeptical look and rushed over to her desk, turning the computer monitor toward herself and tapping in a few commands. An image appeared on the screen. To Chakotay's shock, it looked like a vidfeed of Starbase 3's Shuttlebay 6. He could clearly see himself, kneeling on the deck, muscles frozen, as Kathryn's assimilation tubules punctured his throat, and the others from Voyager gathered behind him, looking on helplessly. At once, Chakotay understood: Kathryn may have lost control of her body, but she was still able to see everything that was happening to her back in the shuttlebay.

Kathryn turned to fix him with a wild look, a mixture of horror and anger.

"What have you done?" she demanded.

"I needed to talk to you," he said.

"So you let me _assimilate_ you?" she retorted, her volume rising.

"That wasn't you. That was the Queen. You said yourself, you lost control of this vessel-"

"You should have killed me first!" she shouted at him, her voice deepening. "Before I could hurt you!"

"Can we fight some other time?" Chakotay shot back. "Right now, we have a problem."

"Just one?"

"We need to-"

An explosion rocked the room. Thrown to the deck, they had only time to cover their heads as splintered furniture and twisted metal rained down on them.

When the air had cleared, they looked up to see the door to Kathryn's quarters had been blasted open. Drones were pouring through like water through a broken dam.

Chakotay looked at Kathryn in dismay.

"They may have taken my body," Kathryn said quietly. "But they will never take my mind."

She picked up a phaser rifle, grimly set it to maximum, and started blasting away at the drones coming through the shattered door. They fell like stalks of wheat under a scythe, falling in heaps over the broken furniture, but there were always more behind them, pushing through the opening and coming steadily and fearlessly further into the room.

Kathryn was firing so furiously that Chakotay could see the tip of the barrel glowing red-hot from the concentrated energy of the phaser beam. But it wasn't enough. A drone came within reach and knocked the weapon out of her hand before she could fire on him. The rifle clattered on the deck.

Chakotay seized Kathryn's hand and pulled her back out of the drone's reach. Together they dove into her bedroom and sealed that room shut.

"I saw her coming," Kathryn said breathlessly. "Behind them. I saw the Queen."

The drones began banging on the door. Kathryn grabbed a storage crate from under the bed and feverishly began throwing PADDS two at a time into it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"My personal logs," she answered without pausing her work. "I don't want them to see..."

When she ran out of PADDS, she looked around the room urgently.

"My antique microscope," she said to Chakotay, holding out her hand. Quickly, he handed it to her. She was putting other things into the crate now, a bewildering array of items, as much as it would hold. Caylem's necklace. A ragged stuffed animal. A holopic of a teenage Kathryn with her parents and sister in Venice. A silken nightgown that was much shorter and skimpier than anything she had worn on New Earth. The replica of Captain Cray's pocketwatch Chakotay had given her on her birthday. He realized that these items, like the ones assembled in his own "quarters," were representations of the experiences that had meant the most to Kathryn in her life. Deeply personal memories and thoughts and feelings, not meant for anyone's eyes but her own.

Embarrassed, Chakotay quickly looked away, and instead his eyes fell on a book lying on the bed: Kathryn's copy of Dante's "Inferno." It was open to a bookmarked page, and one stanza leaped out at him because it was heavily underlined:

 _"Love, which absolves no one beloved from loving,_

 _seized me so strongly with his charm that,_

 _as you see, it has not left me yet._

 _Love brought us to one death."_

Kathryn shut the book before he could read any more, snatched it up, and put it in the crate. She slammed the lid down and activated the lock.

"You should go," she said to Chakotay.

She sat on the bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her box, her blue eyes fixed on his.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"You need to protect your own mind," she said urgently, nodding toward the hatch that led back to his quarters. "I know your freebots are helping you, but that can't last forever."

The thumping abruptly ceased. As one, Kathryn and Chakotay turned to look at the bedroom door, just as it slid open... revealing the Borg Queen.

Glistening pale skin and a crown of wires springing from her head. Haughty posture and cold, calculating eyes. Intellectually Chakotay understood that the Queen was thousands of lightyears away, back in the Delta Quadrant, and yet she was so horribly _present_ , in every way that mattered, that Chakotay felt a spike of visceral fear shoot down his spine.

Kathryn's hands tightened on the box as she stared directly at the Queen, her chin lifting in the way Chakotay knew well. Pushing past his reluctance, he came to stand between the bed and the doorway, but the Queen did not even glance his way.

Instead, she gazed at Kathryn with her dark eyes, glinting faintly in a pale mottled face, and she took several steps into the room.

"Captain Janeway," she said coolly. "Welcome home."

The Queen's eyes glided around the room, taking in every detail. "So this is your mind," she said. "At last we begin to understand you. I see much that I guessed. You contain some surprises, however. I was certain much of your confidence was feigned, a show you put on to keep your crew from losing faith in you. I see now that is not the case."

Her eyes slid down to the locked box on Kathryn's lap, and a slight smile curved her lips.

"Resistance is futile," she said. "If we need to look inside your innermost thoughts, we will."

"I don't care if it is futile," Kathryn said, her fury carefully controlled. "These things are mine. I'll fight you every step of the way."

"If you wish," the Queen said. "Sooner or later, you will fail. They all do." She took another step toward Kathryn. "But we don't need to be enemies, Captain. We are one now. I have a counter-proposal. You wish to keep these things private? Very well. But you must give me something in return."

"I've given you enough." Her voice was cold steel.

"Your will is strong. Your mind is sharp." The Queen looked at her shrewdly. "You will speak for us."

"I won't."

"You will speak to humanity for us. Under the same conditions offered to Erin Hansen. You may retain those aspects of your individuality you still hold, but your purpose will be one with ours. You must comply."

"Find yourself another Locutus. I won't cooperate."

"If you do not, we will tear your box from you and scatter the contents so far and wide you will never be able to gather them again." The Queen's eyes slid over to Chakotay. "And his as well, when we're through with yours."

"You're welcome to try."

The Queen smiled, a little too knowingly. "You're trying so hard to protect your thoughts, Captain. Why? Are you ashamed of them?"

"My thoughts are my own. They're for no one else but me."

"There is no _me_ ," the Queen said. "We are one, you and I. You can cooperate now or after I open your box. It's your choice... Locutus."

The Queen moved forward, and Chakotay quickly stepped between her and Kathryn and put his hand out, holding the Queen back by pressing his hand against her chest. Involuntarily he shuddered at the feel of her clammy skin and the hard metal clamps holding her flesh together.

The Queen spared him only one contemptuous glance before she struck him across the face.

Chakotay staggered against the bulkhead. In one swift motion the Queen grabbed at the crate Kathryn was clutching and tried to tear it out of her grasp.

"Get out!" Kathryn growled. She tightened her arms around the box and hung on tenaciously even as the Queen pulled with all her strength. Chakotay couldn't believe Kathryn was managing to even maintain her grip. The Queen was unnaturally strong... but then again, Kathryn was unnaturally stubborn.

The instant Chakotay regained his balance he wrapped his arms around the Queen from behind and tried to drag her bodily away from Kathryn. He might as well have been trying to move a shuttlecraft with his bare hands. She didn't move an inch.

Then, at that moment, Chakotay heard a voice, one so clear that it seemed she was right there in the room with them: Seven of Nine.

"Stand back," Seven's voice said.

Chakotay looked all around, but Seven was nowhere to be seen.

"Seven?" Chakotay murmured, puzzled by this new development, when he heard the voice again.

"Commander. Stand back!"

Chakotay blinked as he realized where the voice was coming from. With a quick glance at Kathryn and the Queen, still locked in a fierce but silent battle, he quickly turned the desk monitor toward himself and accessed the vidfeed Kathryn had already activated.

He had a clear view into Starbase 3's shuttlebay, at the scene he had just left. There Chakotay himself was, frozen in the grip of Kathryn with her assimilation tubules sunk deep into his neck, their crewmembers gathered around them. And there, bursting back into the circle, was Seven of Nine, blond hair tumbling wildly down over her cortical implant. She was holding a power relay with the end severed, sizzling and snapping with white-hot energy.

"Stand back, Commander," Seven ordered him harshly.

Chakotay spared a look over at Kathryn. The Queen had just pried one of her hands off the box, but quick as a flash Kathryn reached out and scratched the Queen's face, gouging deep furrows into her skin. The Queen did not even cry out in pain; her black eyes were intense with concentration. All she cared about was breaking into the box.

"Kathryn!" Chakotay hissed. "Let go of the box!"

She spoke through gritted teeth. "Never!"

"Trust me! Let go of it. Everything will be fine, I promise!"

Kathryn gave him an agonized look, but after a long hesitation, she abruptly let go of the box.

The Queen hissed in satisfaction, running her gloved fingertips eagerly over the locking mechanism before attempting to force it open.

Chakotay grabbed Kathryn by the hand, and together they dashed out of the bedroom and into Kathryn's living area, leaving the Queen behind. Chakotay pushed Kathryn into her desk chair.

"Access Bridge controls," he told her.

"My _body_? I don't think I can-"

"She's distracted now. Give it a try."

"What am I trying to do?" she asked, fingers flying over the controls.

"Stop assimilating me."

She gave him a look of utter disbelief. "I just gave up _everything_ , everything I am... The freebots are still protecting _your_ mind!"

"Just do it! Please."

To her credit, Kathryn didn't waste any more time arguing, she just accessed the vidfeed they had looked at earlier, of her drone-self assimilating Chakotay in the shuttlebay on Starbase 3.

She took a deep breath. "Here goes."

Kathryn tapped a button. Immediately, they could see on the monitor the drone-Kathryn in the shuttlebay retracting her assimilation tubules and releasing Chakotay, who fell back limply into Neelix's arms.

They looked at each other in elation.

"It worked!" Kathryn said, eyes alight. "I have control again!" She glanced back at the monitor, and slowly her eyes narrowed. "Why is Seven holding that power relay?"

There was a wordless growl of rage behind them. They whirled to see the Queen standing in the bedroom doorway.

"Locutus! Step away from there!" she demanded, her black eyes flashing dangerously.

Kathryn jumped to her feet and turned her back to the computer, spreading her arms out protectively. But the Queen looked past her, and caught sight of the scene in the shuttlebay.

"The transceiver!" the Queen cried out in fury and alarm. She rushed forward, but even as she did so, Chakotay clearly saw on the monitor the image of Seven of Nine thrusting the sizzling, severed end of the power relay into the drone-Kathryn's chest.

Beside him, Kathryn jerked as though she'd been electrocuted, and staggered back against the desk, her hand flying up to press against the site of her neural transceiver, grimacing in pain.

Chakotay wanted to go to her, but the light in Kathryn's quarters seemed to be growing dim, and what was worse, he could feel a vague sense of unreality, as though he weren't quite all there. He tried to hang onto the desk for support, but it didn't feel as solid as it should have. Chakotay glanced down, and saw with a shock that he could see the desk through his own hand. It wasn't the desk that was insubstantial... it was _him_.

 _The Borg transceiver node._

Back in the shuttlebay, Seven had shorted it out, interfering with Kathryn's connection to the Collective... and therefore Chakotay's connection with _her_.

Disoriented, he raised his eyes to see that the Queen, too, was fading away. She was clinging to a bulkhead, leveling a glare at them both, but he could see the wall through her body, and she was growing fainter by the moment. She ground out some incoherent but clearly angry words directed at Kathryn.

The light was growing dimmer by the moment, but Chakotay could see that Kathryn, on the other hand, was just as solid as ever. She wore a triumphant half-smile on her face as she straightened up and walked casually over to the Queen.

"What's that?" Kathryn asked her. "Our connection seems to be breaking up. What is it that you want from me now?"

"Next... time..." the Queen managed to say through gritted teeth.

"There won't be a next time. I broke your transwarp conduit, remember?" Kathryn bent close to the Queen and fixed her with a steely look. "Now get out of my head. That's an order."

It seemed the Queen had no choice in the matter; in a few moments she had faded away completely, along with the rest of the drones in the room.

Chakotay tried to move toward Kathryn, but the quarters were too dark; it was as though a veil had been dropped over his eyes. Kathryn turned to look at him and gasped lightly.

"Chakotay..." she said, coming toward him, but he could barely see her.

Before she reached him, everything went black.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again - painfully, reluctantly - he was lying on the deck of Starbase 3's shuttlebay, supported by Neelix, and every last square inch of his body hurt. He could feel a drop of hot liquefied metal sliding down the back of his neck; now that Kathryn was no longer pumping nanoprobes into his body, his freebots were working to dissolve his newly-formed neural transceiver.

With difficulty, he turned his head. There Kathryn lay motionless beside him, eyes blank and staring as smoke rose from the burnt hole in her uniform. On the deck beside her, the medical tricorder was emitting the long, steady beep of an arrested heartbeat.

"Seven!" the Doctor exclaimed, looking at her in horror.

Seven of Nine tossed the sparking power relay away. "The neural transceiver has been disrupted," she said urgently. "Her connection to the hive mind has been severed. You must remove the implant quickly before it regenerates."

Chakotay longed to rise up and do something, anything to help, but he could feel the nanoprobes and nanites dueling for supremacy inside his body, and all he could do was lay limply on the deck and wait to see which would win out.

The Doctor was the first to recover his wits. Snatching up the hypospray he had dropped, he injected the 8472 countermeasure into Kathryn's neck.

"Roll her over," he ordered, and Seven quickly moved to obey. With one quick motion the Doctor tore a slit into the back of Kathryn's uniform, through both the jacket and the shirt, exposing the back of her neck. "Hand me the exoscalpel."

Jones watched from a distance, still holding his phaser uncertainly, as Seven found the tool in the medkit and handed it to the Doctor. Then she pulled Kathryn's hair aside and held it away from the star-like implant on the back of her neck.

Leaning forward with eyes intent, the Doctor activated the instrument. Instinctively, Chakotay looked away, but it didn't prevent him from catching a whiff of burning human flesh as the Doctor began to cut.

"Forceps," the Doctor said a few moments later. Seven handed it over.

The Doctor worked quietly and efficiently, the only sound in the shuttlebay the steady tone of the tricorder.

"The radial strands," Seven prompted softly.

"I see them," the Doctor said.

A few moments later, he straightened up and carefully handed the forceps to Seven, with a neural transceiver pinched inside it, its radial strands dangling. Seven dropped the implant on a tray.

"Dermal regenerator," the Doctor ordered, and as he sealed the incision Seven carried the transceiver a short distance away, laid it on the deck, and melted it with a blast of her phaser.

"Turn her over," the Doctor said, and Anderson helped him. When Kathryn was once more on her back, the Doctor scanned her with the tricorder and called for the cardiostimulator. He activated the instrument once, twice, three times, and each time Kathryn spasmed under it and then went still.

At last, on the fourth try, the long beep of the tricorder resolved into the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat. Chakotay thought he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. He tried to sit up, but his muscles seemed to be made of water. As one, the crewmembers gathered around breathed sighs of relief.

The Doctor consulted his tricorder again. "The 8472 material is dissolving the proto-implants in the epidermal layer," he reported, a satisfied smile crossing his face.

"Isn't it going to start dissolving her organs, too?" Neelix said anxiously. "Like it did to Harry when Species 8472 attacked him?"

"My modifications were intended to limit the destruction to nanoprobes," the Doctor said, "but as I haven't been able to test this countermeasure before, we'll have to keep a close eye on her." He had turned his tricorder onto Chakotay, and frowned deeply at the results.

"It looks as though your nanites are regaining the upper hand," he said, "but if I may say, Commander, your actions were reckless in the extreme. If you were trying to reduce the level of nanotechnology in the captain's bloodstream, surely there was a better option than taking it into your own!"

"It was how we disconnected Seven from the hive mind," Chakotay murmured. "Remember? You attached a neural implant to me... and I distracted Seven..."

"...until we were able to trigger a power surge to disrupt her neural interface," the Doctor finished wonderingly. "But to invite your own assimilation..."

"Had to get a neural transceiver somewhere, didn't I?" He swallowed painfully. "Good thing Seven remembered."

They all looked over at Seven, who was paying no attention to them. She had pulled the captain's torn jacket and shirt the rest of the way off, so that Kathryn was clad in her standard-issue tank top, revealing an electrical burn on her chest. Seven was running a dermal regenerator over it.

Just then, the captain made a soft sound in the back of her throat, and the Doctor quickly moved back over to her side. With Neelix's help, Chakotay managed to get himself sitting mostly upright by the captain's side.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and slowly her eyes opened and her blue eyes gazed dully up at them.

Seven leaned forward and addressed Kathryn. "State your designation," she said.

Groggily Kathryn stirred, coughed in a dry throat, and spoke hoarsely: "Kathryn Janeway... of Unimatrix Voyager... designation 1... of 161." An ever-so-slight smile lifted the corners of her lips.

Seven closed her eyes momentarily, and her shoulders sagged with relief.

"Welcome back, Captain," the Doctor said, with a pleased smile. "I think I speak for everyone when I say we've all missed you tremendously these last few minutes."

"Thank you, Doctor," she said, putting a hand weakly on his shoulder.

"My pleasure. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another patient to check on."

He settled back on his heels and tapped his combadge. "Doctor to Sickbay. What is Lieutenant Torres' condition?"

The comline opened, but before anyone on the other end could say a word, they all heard the distinctive high-pitched wail of a newborn in the background.

"We have a baby, Doc!" Tom Paris shouted over the comline. His voice was so distorted it was hard to tell if he was laughing or crying as he spoke. "Oh, you should see her! She is absolutely perfect! Just perfect!"

Jones and his team looked confused, but everyone from Voyager had smiles beginning to spread across their faces.

Chakotay leaned forward and touched Kathryn's hand. "Make that designation 1 of 162," he said, and she smiled weakly in response.

Naomi Wildman's little voice chimed in. "She has the cutest little ridges on her forehead! Just like Lieutenant Torres!"

"And how is the mother?" the Doctor asked.

Torres herself answered. "A whole lot better than I was 15 minutes ago!"

"No kidding, you should see the scratches on my arms," Paris chimed in.

"Excellent work, Mr. Paris," the Doctor said. He glanced around the shuttlebay at all the de-assimilated drones lying prone on the deck, some of them stirring feebly and moaning in pain, others ominously still. "If you have everything under control there, Lieutenant, I'm going to stay here and begin triage. Prepare Sickbay for casualties. It looks like we're going to have plenty of implant extraction to do in short order."

"Got it, Doc."

As the comline cut, the Doctor stood and rapidly issued instructions to Seven.

"I want you to beam back over to Voyager and plug the captain into your regeneration alcove. Program it to regenerate the benign nanites only. That should give them enough of a boost to help the 8472 material clean out the remaining nanoprobes. I want you to keep a close eye on her. If the countermeasure begins to affect the cardiopulmonary system, I need to know right away."

"Understood."

Seven tapped her combadge and requested transport directly to Cargo Bay 2, and moments later she and Kathryn disappeared in a shimmer of light.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** I'd love to get some feedback for this chapter. I found it pretty challenging to write as I tried to keep the Borg Queen and the Collective in line with what past episodes and First Contact established about the assimilation process, the idea of a Locutus, and the goals and tactics of the Collective, while also trying to give it a new interesting twist. The process was complicated and I hope I managed to write something that was both compelling story-wise, and made sense plot-wise. If anything didn't quite work for you, and/or you have any ideas about how I could have made it better, please let me know! I'd also welcome any thoughts about my characters and if you feel invested emotionally in what they're going through here. Thank you!


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note:** Wow, I asked for feedback last week and got a ton of it! Everyone's comments really helped me know if I'm on the right track; thank you for taking the time to do that.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

 _"Regeneration cycle complete."_

At the familiar sound of the computer's voice, Janeway opened her eyes. For several moments, she was totally disoriented. She was standing in Cargo Bay 2, of all places, and it was packed with people. Row upon row of Borg drones were lying on cots, and a dozen or so of her own crewmembers were walking up and down the rows tending to them. None of them were paying any attention to her.

Confused, she looked down at herself. She was wearing a blue medical gown, tinged emerald from a flickering light behind her. Janeway turned to look, and saw the green static-discharging disc of a Borg regeneration alcove above her head.

That was when she remembered. She had nearly been assimilated. Seven had brought her here and plugged her into the alcove to help her recover. Janeway rotated her shoulders experimentally and tried to assess how she felt. Surprisingly well-rested, actually. Regenerating was apparently as peaceful as normal sleep. She never would have guessed it, given that she had been "sleeping" standing up for who knew how long, and yet her muscles were not sore in the slightest.

She held up her left hand and looked at it. The emerged implant was gone, and her skin was its usual shade of pink. Cautiously, she reached up and felt the back of her neck under her hair. No sign of the neural transceiver, either. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Her thoughts were her own once again.

But beneath her relief, there was a note of sorrow. When she had volunteered to be quasi-assimilated back in the Delta Quadrant in order to download the Unimatrix virus, her higher brain functions had been protected by the Doctor's short-term inoculation. As unpleasant as it had been, nothing about that experience could have prepared her for a true assimilation.

She had expected the loss of physical and mental control. She had not expected to _want_ to lose that control.

Involuntarily, Janeway shivered. There was a part of her that had actually wanted to stay in the Collective. A part of her that admired the greatness of the Borg vision, and longed to dive into the vast field of knowledge they had accumulated from countless species, until she had lost her very self beneath a heaving sea of others.

But there had been some other part of her that had resisted, something hard as iron that could not, _would_ not accept annihilation, no matter what enticements lay that way. What was it, this part of her that was somehow stronger than her conscious mind, strangely mysterious and yet oh-so-familiar? What would she call it? Her individuality? Her will? Her... spirit?

Whatever it was, she would have been lost without it. One voice might be less powerful than trillions, as the Borg said, but one was all she ever wanted to hear in her head again.

Janeway stepped down from the platform, as she had seen Seven do so many times, and she heard the alcove power down behind her in response. The metal of the deck was cold against her bare feet as she surveyed the room. There must be dozens of recovering drones in here. Most were lying on their cots, with some or all of their exo-plating stripped away, revealing large patches of pale skin.

She counted eight tactical officers warily guarding the exit and pacing around the perimeter, truncheons in hand, assimilation gloves on their hands and compression phaser rifles slung over their backs. With patients like these, they weren't taking any chances.

There were also Voyager crewmembers moving from drone to drone, some scanning with medical tricorders, some pulling blankets over the patients, some administering hyposprays. Seven of Nine was among them. Janeway headed over to her, feeling slightly foolish dressed in her medical gown.

"Seven," Janeway said.

Seven looked up from the drone she was tending, saw Janeway, and straightened up.

"Captain Janeway," Seven said. "You've been regenerating for approximately six hours. How do you feel?"

"Not bad, considering." Janeway folded her arms and looked up at Seven with an eyebrow quirked. "You know, I never thought I'd say this to anyone, Seven, but... thank you for electrocuting me."

Seven lifted an eyebrow coolly. "You're welcome."

"Clever idea."

"You ordered the same thing done to me, five years ago."

"I guess that makes us even. So am I back to being human now?"

Seven pulled a medical tricorder out of a nearby medkit and scanned Janeway. "Your biosigns are stable. Report to Sickbay so the Doctor can verify your fitness for duty."

Janeway suppressed a smile. When would Seven ever learn to stop giving her orders? "First things first, Seven," she said. "Report."

Seven put her tricorder away and assumed a business-like manner.

"Starbase 3 has been secured," she answered. "The Borg have been eradicated. Some were killed in the fighting, but more than 200 of them have been liberated from the Collective. About half of those rescued were crewmen from the station who were assimilated during the battle; they are in stable condition and are being cared for on the station. However, the drones originating from the Delta Quadrant have been beamed to Voyager for extensive surgical implant extraction and recovery. The Doctor is better equipped to treat them than anyone on the station."

"It looks like he's had his hands full," Janeway said, surveying the Cargo Bay. "How many do we have?"

"A little more than a hundred," Seven said.

Janeway looked over the drones nearest to them, and shook her head in wonderment. "And here I thought we were done dealing with Delta Quadrant races. Look at them. There's a Malon. And a Yantemi from the Coalition." She paused, looking at one drone who was too large for the bed he had been placed on. "I think that's the Hirogen who assimilated me."

"What will happen to those who survive the conversion process?" Seven asked in a low voice, so that the drones near them could not hear.

Janeway sighed. "They're refugees now. Too far from their homes to ever get back. The Federation will take them in, I have no doubt. If they want to stay. I don't think they'll get a better welcome anywhere else."

Some sort of commotion broke out a short distance away. Seven and Janeway looked over to see Lieutenant Walter Baxter hurrying over to a recovering drone, a female, who was trying to get up from her cot.

"The voices are gone!" She was visibly distraught. "We cannot hear the others!"

"Calm down," Baxter said quickly, trying to hold her down. "Don't get up, you'll hurt yourself! You've just been in surgery-"

The woman shoved Baxter away and sat up anyway. She looked down in dismay at her body.

"What have you done to us?" she demanded.

"Several of your implants been removed," Seven said, hurrying up to her and dismissing Baxter with a curt gesture. "It was necessary to save your life."

The woman glared at Seven. "You have disfigured us. We must be repaired. Return us to the Collective."

"That isn't possible," Seven said. "The Collective is thousands of lightyears away."

A dangerous glint came into the woman's eyes, and she stood up to face Seven down. "We cannot survive alone. You must take us to them."

"We must do nothing. Return to your bed, or you will injure yourself."

The woman was clearly infuriated by Seven's lack of compliance. She got right up in Seven's face, her nostrils flaring.

"Return us to our people! The silence is unacceptable!"

Seven stood firm. "You are stronger than you know. You can survive without them. You are an individual."

The woman hissed through her teeth. "We are Borg!"

"You are Monean," Seven contradicted. "Your ancestors were nomads. Three hundred years ago they found an oceanic planetoid and made it their home."

"Irrelevant." The woman turned away dismissively.

Seven circled around to face her again.

"It is who you are," she said firmly. "I've seen your homeworld. Your people tamed the ocean, learned to farm the sea vegetation, lived in harmony with the creatures who lived there. They built oxygen refineries and desalination plants of an efficient design. You should be proud of your heritage."

The woman paced up and down the row like a caged tiger, but after a few repetitions of this, she suddenly slowed and her eyes went unfocused. She seemed to be lost in thought.

"Brine... in the veins..." she whispered.

Then her face hardened, and she whirled back to face Seven. "We don't want that heritage! We want the others!"

"I know what you are feeling," Seven said, her blue eyes intense. "You feel small. Isolated. Alone. But you are not. The Federation is a community of trillions. You will be welcomed here." She kept her voice steady, but Janeway sensed Seven was trying to convince herself of those words as much as anyone else.

"A community is insufficient," the woman spat. "We must have a collective."

"You think you need it, but you do not," Seven said. "Soon you will discover you are an individual, with thoughts and memories and desires of your own. One voice can be stronger than a thousand. Yours is unique. It is sufficient for your needs."

"No!" The woman knocked over a cart full of medical supplies, scattering hyposprays across the deck. "We cannot live like this!" Her voice was raw with anger and grief. "You should have let us die!"

Two security guards were there in seconds, grabbing the woman firmly by the arms. She thrashed around wildly, struggling to get free. Crewmembers and recovering drones alike were turning startled faces in their direction.

Seven leaped into action, pulling a hypospray out of a nearby medkit and injecting it into the woman's neck while the guards held her. Abruptly, her thrashing ceased, and she began to collapse. Seven quickly slipped an arm around her and lowered her gently to the deck, the woman's arms hanging down limply, her head lolling.

Even as she relaxed into Seven's arms, the woman leveled a look of pure hatred at her. "We despise you," she hissed through bared teeth.

The woman's eyes fluttered and then closed, and the guards quietly and efficiently helped Seven lift her unconscious form and lay her on a cot. As the guards left, Seven leaned over the bed and briefly touched the shoulder of the unconscious woman.

"One day," Seven said softly, "you will no longer feel that way." She swallowed. "One day you will thank me."

Baxter came up behind Seven and touched her elbow. "There's another one starting to come around," he said, gesturing across the Cargo Bay.

Seven hurried off with Baxter, leaving Janeway alone. She looked around and caught sight of someone she hadn't immediately seen: Neelix, sitting on a chair between cots, reading out loud to the drones around him. She started toward him, but she was stopped by a quietly hesitant voice.

"Captain Janeway?"

Janeway turned toward the voice, and found herself looking at a young Bajoran woman in a gold Engineering uniform: Tal Celes.

"Yes, Crewman?" she said, fighting the urge to smooth her medical gown as she would her uniform.

"Um... how are you feeling, Captain?" Celes asked nervously.

Janeway considered that. "Mostly human," she said at last.

Celes nodded eagerly. "Good, um, I mean, it's very good to hear that, ma'am. We were all worried about you, Captain. That is, we knew you were fine. Seven of Nine said you would be. But we were worried anyway."

Janeway smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way. It never seemed to matter how gently she handled her interactions with Celes, the young crewman was determined to be intimidated by her. But the fact that Celes had proactively spoken to her was progress of a sort, anyway.

An awkward silence stretched out. Celes rubbed her hands nervously together.

"Did you have something for me, Crewman?" Janeway prompted gently.

"Oh, yes ma'am," Celes said hastily. "The Doctor left instructions for you. He said that," she paused, and looked up briefly to remember, "he said that he needs to clear you before you return to duty. And he said that before he'll examine you, you have to eat a decent meal. And then he said that..." she trailed off, looking reluctant.

"Yes?" Janeway said after a few moments.

Celes shifted her feet back and forth. "He said... that, uh..." Her face was turning bright red, and quickly she blurted out: "He said that a cup of coffee doesn't count as a decent meal."

"He said _that_ , did he?" Janeway said, and she couldn't decide whether to be irritated or amused. She fought the urge to tell Celes she was going to go straight to Sickbay and decompile the Doctor's program for his cheek, sensing that the poor thing might not understand she was joking.

"Don't worry, Celes," she said gently. "I make it a policy of mine never to shoot the messenger."

Celes nodded quickly, and made a visible effort to relax. "I can bring you something, if you'd like, Captain," she said.

"That would be nice," she said, and in truth her stomach was twisting knots in itself. Breakfast seemed a very long time ago.

Celes nodded, and quickly left, squeezing her way past Megan and Jenny Delaney as they moved from drone to drone, helping each one sit up enough to take sips of water.

While she waited, Janeway walked down the row of cots toward the group of drones who were listening to Neelix read out loud.

"...at last, Axiana reached the top of the peak, where she found an old woman stirring a pot full of spiced stew," Neelix was saying. "Gathering up her courage, Axiana approached the woman and asked, 'Please, madam, would you be so kind as to share a mouthful with someone in need?'"

Janeway hadn't intended to interrupt, but she suddenly recognized the species of several of the drones nearest Neelix, and involuntarily she blurted out: "Neelix?"

"Why, Captain!" Neelix said, looking up from his book with a smile lighting his face. "It's good to see you looking yourself again!"

She barely acknowledged his statement because she was busy looking in wonderment at the three drones gathered around Neelix. He followed her gaze, and nodded knowingly.

"It seems I spoke too soon, Captain," he said. "I'm _not_ the only Talaxian in the Alpha Quadrant. There are four of us!" He could barely contain his delight in the announcement. "This is Jaxilon, and Pexa, and Lilitix. Everyone, this is Captain Janeway. She helped rescue you from the Collective!"

She smiled warmly at the newcomers. "Welcome aboard."

Two of them, the ones who were sitting on the edge of their cots, gazed dully at her. They looked sickly, with their bald heads and multiple painful-looking raw patches on their skin where implants had been removed. One of them was missing an arm. The third didn't even look up to acknowledge Janeway, she just stayed curled up on her side, staring down at her scarred hands.

"Uh, they aren't speaking much yet," Neelix said to Janeway apologetically. "I think they're still a little shell-shocked by everything that's happened. I've just been reading to them 'The Tale of Axiana the Lighthearted.' Every Talaxian hears that old story as a child. I think some of them might actually remember it."

Janeway smiled. "It looks like they're in very good hands, Mr. Neelix." She spotted Celes hovering at the edge of her peripheral vision, and she patted Neelix's shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, then."

She walked back over to Celes, who was bearing a tray with a bowl of pasta soup that Janeway recognized as "Neelix 6-5-1." So Celes had remembered it from their mission on the Delta Flyer last year. Janeway couldn't help but be touched by her thoughtfulness, and suddenly she was struck by the realization that today probably marked the end of Celes' Starfleet career. She had once told Janeway, and repeated it afterward to her own supervisor during subsequent crew evaluations, that she just wasn't cut out for Starfleet, and she intended to quit as soon as they got home.

"Here you are, Captain," Celes said, putting the tray on a barrel. "And I replicated you a new uniform, too, when you're ready for it." She nodded toward a black bundle and a pair of boots sitting on another barrel. "Can I get you anything else?"

Janeway had to blink back a few tears. "No, thank you, Celes," she said, clearing her throat. "You've been... very helpful. Thank you."

Celes went back to her work, while Janeway worked to compose herself. She had always known things would change when they got home. Celes would only be the beginning. No doubt others on the crew would turn in their commissions, or take new assignments elsewhere, or go on sabbaticals to be with their families.

She remembered complaining to Tuvok on their first day in the Delta Quadrant that she never seemed to get to know her crewmembers well enough before they were taken from her. They had been talking about Harry Kim in particular, she remembered, because he had gone missing after their foray into the Caretaker's Array and she had feared she would never see Harry alive again, having met him only a few days before. Well, this little unplanned excursion of theirs had more than fulfilled her wish. Never again would she be guaranteed the same crew for eight years straight. As difficult as this experience had been, it had brought its own blessings, and it was bittersweet to see them end.

Taking a calming breath, she settled down with her tray, eager to get back to the Bridge for the latest report. Afterward Janeway thought that it was one of the strangest moments in her career: Eating her first meal in the Alpha Quadrant in eight years while sitting on a crate of dehydrated Talaxian tomatoes, dressed in a medical gown, with bare feet dangling, watching her crew minister to more than a hundred recovering Borg drones from the Delta Quadrant. It was one scenario she had never cooked up in all her fantasies of returning home, that was for certain.

I'm a Starfleet officer, she reminded herself. Weird is part of the job.

* * *

Dressed once more in her uniform, Janeway made her way to Deck 5, where there were yet more fully-equipped tactical officers posted in the corridor as well as inside Sickbay. They readily made way for her, all the while sneaking surreptitious looks at her. No doubt word had gotten around about her close shave on Starbase 3 and they were wondering if she would be covered in implants, a la Seven of Nine. She hoped they weren't disappointed to see her looking merely human.

There was an ex-drone lying sedated on every biobed in Sickbay, and she could see at a glance that the Doctor was in the midst of a delicate brain operation on one in the surgical bay. Not wanting to interrupt him, she instead approached Paris, who was working on a different drone, gently peeling a portion of exoplating off her abdomen.

"Captain!" he said, glancing up from his work. "Have a good regeneration? Dream good Borg dreams?"

Paris looked exhausted, with dark circles easily visible under his eyes, yet he sounded as chipper as if he had just finished off a rousing adventure in the holodeck with Buster Kincaid.

"You could say that," she said, coming over to stand by him. "And speaking of which, Tom, was I dreaming, or did I hear you say something about a baby over the comline?"

"Oh, yes ma'am," he said with a smile breaking like the sun. "B'Elanna had the baby. A beautiful little girl, nine pounds, 12 ounces. We named her Miral."

"Congratulations, Papa," she said, patting him on the back. "They aren't here?" she added, looking around Sickbay.

"No, I took them down to our quarters to rest," Paris said. "Sam Wildman is there to help B'Elanna with the baby."

Janeway nodded. "I'll look forward to meeting little Miral, then, whenever B'Elanna feels up to visitors. And how are you doing?"

"Well, you know," Paris shrugged, tossing a big piece of rubber into a medical bin. "Today I traveled 30,000 lightyears with nothing but a forcefield between myself and the vacuum of space, then I nearly got blown up doing a hotshot maneuver with the Delta Flyer against a Borg cube, after which I delivered my own daughter, and then helped perform surgery on dozens of drones." He grinned at her. "Best day of my life."

Janeway chuckled appreciatively.

"Hey, Doc!" Paris called. "The captain's here. Do you have a minute to examine her?"

"I'm a little busy at the moment," the Doctor said, not looking up from the inner workings of a drone's cranium. "Has she eaten?"

"Have you eaten?" Paris asked.

"Yes."

"Yes!" Paris called.

"Something other than coffee?" the Doctor demanded.

"Something other than coffee?" Paris asked.

"Yes."

"Yes!" Paris called.

"It's a modern medical miracle," the Doctor said, rolling his eyes. "Check her nanoprobe levels, Mr. Paris."

Paris grabbed his tricorder and scanned Janeway.

"Negative, Doc," he said. "Nobody home but the freebots."

"Am I going to have those forever?" Janeway asked, slightly alarmed.

"Oh, no," Paris said quickly. "They'll work their way out of your system in a couple of weeks. We think."

"And her vitals?" the Doctor interjected.

"Looking good."

"Tell her she can go back to work, but if she hears any voices, or experiences any dizziness or, heaven forbid, any Borg implants suddenly erupting from her body, or Species 8472 tendrils coming out of her nostrils, I expect to hear about it sooner rather than later."

"He says-" Paris began, but Janeway held up a fending hand. "I heard, Tom. Thank you both, gentlemen. I'll leave you to your work."

* * *

"Captain on the Bridge," said Ayala from Tactical, and dutifully everyone on the Bridge rose to stand at attention.

It was a formality Janeway had long ago requested the crew to forgo, although they still did it from time to time when they wanted to show her particular respect. It never failed to touch her.

"As you were," she said with a smile and a nod, and they settled in to their stations again.

Harry Kim continued to stand in front of the First Officer's chair, looking at her with a mixture of concern and relief.

"Feeling like your old self again, Captain?" he asked.

"Rumors of my assimilation have been greatly exaggerated," she said as she came down the steps to face him. "Report?"

"All systems functional, Captain," Kim said. "I've got repair teams in environmental suits clearing out the contaminated area around the tricobalt reactor, or what's left of it after that power surge. I'm afraid it isn't salvageable."

She sighed. After all that work to develop it and install it. "Well, at least we seem to have run out of Borg cubes to battle," she said. "How did you get rid of that last one, Harry?"

"We cut a hole through their shields using the dicosilium emitter and beamed a torpedo over to them," Harry said with a satisfied smile. "And we used a warp microburst to get in range and then out again. Tom took the Delta Flyer out in front of Voyager to protect us while we were unshielded."

Janeway was more than a little surprised.

"What were you about to suggest before the Borg took you?" Kim asked curiously.

"Nothing remotely like a warp microburst," she said.

Kim suddenly looked a little uncertain. She quickly smiled and patted his shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Kim," she said. "Your plan worked, and that's the highest compliment I can pay you. What happened to the rest of the fleet?"

"The Zephyr and the Aegean self-destructed as planned," Kim said, "but Captains Retief and Hobson were able to evacuate their crews first. We also got the Solstice and Captain Nirak's escape pods to safety."

"They're onboard the station now?"

Kim shook his head. "Actually, they've all been transferred to several starships that arrived in the last few hours. It seems those civilian ships we passed on the way here were able to get out of range of the Borg communications jam and call Starfleet for help." He gestured at the viewscreen, where three starships could be seen floating near Voyager. "There's the Tecumseh, the Resolve and the Akagi. Starfleet Command dispatched them to help with the battle."

"Well, it's a shame you had everything wrapped up by the time they got here," Janeway said, her eyes twinkling at him.

Kim smiled. "Don't worry, they found something to occupy themselves with: tracking down the jamming equipment the Borg left floating all around this area of space."

"Then we have communications again?"

"Commander Sharma and the other captains have all advised Starfleet Command of the situation," Kim said. "Civilian travel through this sector has been curtailed for now, until they're sure every trace of the Borg is gone. I've been told that a hospital ship, the U.S.S. McCoy, should be here by the end of the day to take some of the Doctor's workload. They're also sending more ships to help with repairs to the station."

"What kind of shape is the station in?"

Kim blew out a sigh. "Not great. For one thing, the station crew sabotaged some of their own systems in an effort to slow down the Borg. Then there were six levels that experienced some level of Borg assimilation. There's a lot of equipment that will have to be repaired or replaced."

"I take it our squads were able to help them reclaim the command center?"

"Yes. Eventually." Kim rubbed his forehead. "It was quite a job. A couple of times Chakotay and Sharma thought they had the station clear, but then there would be another outbreak of drones. Our squads ended up working for 5 hours straight before we finally eliminated all assimilation attempts. Doc had to send over hyposprays full of stimulants just to keep them going. They were pretty wiped out by the time they got back, about an hour ago."

"They're all resting now, I hope," Janeway said.

Kim nodded. "Except Commander Chakotay. He insisted on seeing you as soon as you were done, uh, regenerating. He's waiting for you in your Ready Room."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She patted his arm. "And well done, keeping the ship in one piece in my absence. Ever thought about cross-training in Tactical?"

"As a matter of fact..." Kim said.

Janeway raised her eyebrows.

"Well, we can talk about that later," Kim said quickly.

Janeway smiled and patted his arm again. "I look forward to it, Harry. And I'm going to let you keep the Bridge for a little longer, if you're up to it, while I have a word with Commander Chakotay."

"Yes, ma'am."

She crossed over to her Ready Room, and the door opened with a hiss. Standing at the threshold, she thought for a moment that Kim had been mistaken; the room looked empty. Then, as she came inside and went up the steps to the left, she could see over the coffee table and realized Chakotay was there, stretched out the full length of the couch beneath the window, sound asleep.

As quietly as possible, she tiptoed up the rest of the stairs and studied Chakotay with a smile tugging at her lips. He was wearing the short-sleeved gray undershirt of a Starfleet uniform, his jacket having been balled up to serve as a pillow, and his boots were lying carelessly on the floor. On the coffee table lay an assimilation glove. She could clearly see two puncture marks on his wrist, no doubt left by the glove's tubules, while his hand was wrapped up tightly with bandages.

Chakotay's face was peacefully composed in sleep, every plane and angle of his features outlined in the starlight from the window. His cupid's-bow lips were just parted, his breathing regular, his forehead smooth and untroubled. His glossy black hair was not brushed up and back neatly, as was usual, but came down over his forehead in a short fringe, covering the upper edge of his tattoo.

Hardly daring to breathe, Janeway very slowly, very carefully knelt down next to the couch. She was feeling an urge she had felt many times before, but this was the first time she wasn't inclined to fight it. He was sleeping so deeply that she thought she just might be able to get away with it, with no one being the wiser.

She reached out with one hand, hesitated, and then gently placed two fingertips on his forehead, and slowly slid them along the double arch of the tattoo above his eyebrow. His bronze skin was warm under her fingers, almost hot. At her touch, he stirred slightly, and quickly she pulled her hand back, but he soon relaxed again. She waited for a minute to be sure, but he didn't so much as twitch an eyelid. Feeling emboldened, she leaned forward again and softly traced the V-shape of the upper half of the tattoo, feeling the ends of his hair tickle her skin, then let her finger slide down to follow around the curlicue at his temple.

It felt every bit as nice as she always hoped it would, possibly more so. Smiling to herself, she started tracing the lines over again, making sure to keep her touch very light. She wondered idly if he always slept this deeply, or only when he was exhausted from so much exertion. Poor man. It had been a long day for all of them, but especially for him. For she remembered clearly everything he had done and said in the shuttlebay while he was working to save her, even after the Collective had taken control of her body. It had felt as though she were shackled inside her own brain, hearing and seeing everything that was happening to her, but powerless to do anything about it. If Chakotay hadn't distracted the Queen with his insane offer to let her assimilate him, giving Seven enough time to do what she had done...

She felt a rush of gratitude and love so powerful that it made every inch of her body tingle. What had she ever done to deserve such devotion from Chakotay, and how could she ever hope to repay it? It would be the work of a lifetime.

She could feel it beginning to crack now, the dam she had built around her heart, high and thick but not quite impenetrable. The cool professionalism she had been forced to affect for so long was making way for a flood of warmer feelings, and in a flash she understood why the change was coming now, and why she was so disinclined to fight it. It wasn't only Chakotay's sacrifice for her; certainly he had saved her life a number of times before this. It was the realization that, one way or the other, he was going to be taken from her command very soon.

In one fell swoop, their return to the Alpha Quadrant had swept away all the artificial restraints that had kept the two of them apart. The last page of the last chapter of their adventures together in the Delta Quadrant had been written and the book was now shut. What mysteries would the sequel hold?

If she wanted to be realistic - and she didn't - there was a very real chance that Chakotay would shortly be in custody, along with the other Maquis and the crew of the Equinox. However grateful Starfleet Command might be for their actions in halting the Borg invasion, justice could not and would not be denied. The only question was whether mercy would figure into the equation.

Chakotay had no way of knowing whether she still loved him. Should she tell him now? Or wait until he had obtained his freedom?

It could be months, even a year, waiting for the legal proceedings. A long time to endure such uncertainty. And suppose he never attained his freedom. Would that change her feelings? Her determination to give their relationship a try?

It would be sensible to wait. Wait until she knew for certain that she could have a future with him beyond merely visiting him in a penal colony each time she had leave. She did not think she would be too proud for such an arrangement, but she was almost certain Chakotay would be. He would tell her to forget him. To move on with her life. He had always been more courageous than she was about learning to let go of desires.

Yes, it would be safer to wait.

But then again, Kathryn Janeway was not in the habit of taking the safest path.

Taking several deep steadying breaths, she composed herself before reaching out again, this time to shake his shoulder.

"Chakotay," she whispered. "Wake up. Chakotay."

It took some persistence, but eventually she managed to rouse him. Chakotay slowly sat up, blinking blearily, and tried to focus on her.

"You all right?" he mumbled.

"Me? I'm fine."

"You would say that," Chakotay said, trying to smooth down his messy hair, "if you had just had both legs torn off by a Trayken beast. Or been assimilated by the Borg."

She sat down next to him on the couch.

"I admit it," she said. "But this time I'm at least as fine as you are, and possibly more. What did you do to your hand?"

Chakotay glanced at his bandaged hand carelessly. "Broke it on a Borg's face."

"Ouch. Why didn't you go to Sickbay?"

"I figured the good Doc had enough to do at the moment. Neelix helped me wrap it up, and found me an analgesic. It isn't so bad. This is not the first time I've broken my hand throwing a punch."

He spoke lightly, but despite his words it seemed to her that he was fighting both pain and weariness.

"You should have gone to Sickbay anyway," she said. "Or at the very least, gone to your quarters for some sleep. No one expects you to still be on duty after a day like today. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Isn't that my line?" he asked, trying to smile.

She realized Chakotay was right. Usually he was the one scolding her for pushing herself too hard. To Janeway's surprise, she found that she liked being on the other end of the lecture for once. It felt good to be the one taking care of him.

"I'll rest in a while," Chakotay said, "but there's something we need to discuss now, while we have a moment of calm, before you call Starfleet Command and everything turns into an uproar again."

She felt her heart beating a little faster, and she was conscious of a deep sense of relief. Good. He, too, wanted to talk about their relationship sooner rather than later.

"Would you like me to start?" she asked, anxious for him to know that she was as eager to settle this as he was.

"What?" he said blankly.

"Do you want me to talk first about..." She paused a moment. "Wait. What did you want to talk about?"

Chakotay's eyes were bleak. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, and we need to decide how to go about informing the crew."

She blinked in surprise. "Why, what's wrong? What happened?"

Chakotay closed his eyes briefly and took several breaths. "After the Away Team had taken care of the last of the drones, I gathered everyone up to do a head count and an injury check and then had them beam back to Voyager for some rest. I stayed behind. Commander Sharma and his people were busy securing the station. I found a terminal and looked in the Federation database for the entry on the Cardassian War. I thought it would be best if we found out sooner rather than later what the situation was."

Janeway felt a sick sensation beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.

"Did you hear about this already?" Chakotay asked.

She gave a quick negation. "I haven't heard any news other than the results of our battle. What happened with the Cardassians?"

He spoke slowly and deliberately, as though reciting words he had memorized. "The Cardassian War is over. About two years after we left it was replaced by something called the Dominion War. I know. I'd never heard of the Dominion, either. It was an alliance of several races from the Gamma Quadrant. They joined forces with Cardassia and tried to annihilate the Federation. The Dominion captured Deep Space Nine and conquered a lot of our territory. We lost a lot of ships. A lot of people. Once we lost a hundred starships in a single battle. They took over Betazed, and they even managed to do some damage to San Francisco."

She looked at him in horror, one hand going up to cover her mouth.

"Don't worry, Kathryn," Chakotay said. He was calm, much too calm. He must be too weary to feel anything. Too hurt to grieve. "Don't worry. It's over now. We missed the whole war. The Klingons allied with us. Even the Romulans were helping by the end. They all decided to invade Cardassia Prime itself. By then the Cardassian military was sick of the Dominion's meddling in Alpha Quadrant affairs, and they betrayed their own allies to help us. Eventually the Dominion agreed to an unconditional surrender. It's over. It's all over."

She choked back the emotion and tried to sort through the thousands of questions crowding into her mind. At last, she managed to focus on just one.

"And the Cardassians?" she said. "Did they give up on invading us?"

"The Dominion killed more than 800 million Cardassian civilians, in addition to all the military losses they had already sustained during the war," Chakotay said. "I would imagine that they aren't thinking of anything but rebuilding their own homeworld right now."

"Then-" She tried to contain the sudden surge of hope she was feeling. "Then the demilitarized zone is no longer in dispute? The Maquis aren't fighting anymore?"

"Oh, we got all our colonies back," Chakotay said, and for the first time his calm facade slipped, and she could hear an undercurrent of anger in his voice. "Everything's back in Federation hands where it should be. Even my old home on Dorvan 5... what's left of it. As for Maquis fighting? No. There's no one left to fight. The Dominion slaughtered them all in the first week of the war."

She stared at him, shocked. "All of them? Oh, Chakotay... surely not all..."

"All but a few who got captured by the Federation first. They're still cooling their heels in a penal colony." He laughed humorlessly. "They were the lucky ones. Safe and sound behind a fence, while they mourn the deaths of their compatriots and remember their homes as they were before the Cardassians left everything in ruins."

"Oh, Chakotay... I'm so sorry. All your friends... I'm so sorry." She scooted over, and put her arm around him. He let her hold him, but still he was calm, too calm. Clearly the news hadn't fully sunk in yet.

Suddenly, an awful thought struck her. "Wait. Your sister... She moved back to Earth, didn't she? After your father died? She wouldn't have been anywhere near the fighting, would she?"

"I don't know." Chakotay's voice was hollow. "If she stayed on Earth, she should have been safe, but then again... if she decided to follow in my footsteps, and get involved somehow..."

"She didn't have any military training," Janeway pointed out quickly.

"No, but there were plenty in the Maquis who worked behind the scenes. And after Father and her older son died, I think at least a part of her wanted to join me and help with the cause..." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I think the only reason she didn't then was for the sake of her other son's safety. I don't know, Kathryn. With my ship declared missing in the Badlands... If she came to the conclusion that the Val Jean was destroyed by either the Federation or the Cardassians, I can only imagine what she might have felt. What she might have done."

She opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment her combadge chirped.

"Kim to Janeway."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Captain, Starfleet Command is calling again, wanting to know if you're well enough to speak yet. What should I tell them?"

She glanced at Chakotay. "Send it into my Ready Room, Mr. Kim, and tell them I'll be with them in just a minute."

"Aye, captain."

Chakotay was already standing up and gathering up his things. "I'll get out of your hair," he said. "Vice Admiral Patterson must be wearing a path through the carpet in his office. That's the fourth time he's tried to call in the last few hours, although Harry told him very clearly that you were under medical care and weren't in any condition to speak. You know Patterson, don't you?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, he's the one who turned over Voyager to me. I took several classes from him at the Academy and he was one of my favorites, although I still have nightmares about his fractal calculus final exam." She paused a moment. "Why did you have Harry speak to him?" she asked.

"Well, with you unconscious, I didn't feel it was the ideal time to let Starfleet Command know they had a Maquis running one of their ships," Chakotay said. "Not to mention, I felt like a dead man walking and had no wits about me. Tuvok was resting and Tom was in Sickbay, so I let Harry take it."

She was startled. "You mean Starfleet Command doesn't already know I have Maquis on my ship? Surely Commander Sharma has mentioned it by now. Unless you didn't tell him your name..."

"No, I told Sharma my name all right. And I'm sure he's made his report by now. He pulled me aside just before I beamed back over here and started questioning me. One of his people had looked up Voyager in the database and noticed that I wasn't on the crew manifest. Then they found my file and realized who I really was."

She frowned deeply. "Sharma didn't arrest you right then and there? He let you beam over here anyway?"

"I explained the situation to him. He knew he didn't have the authority to supersede your orders on your own ship. And he did say something... about me liberating him, and helping him get his station back. I told him I wouldn't be running, and he believed me. He said he would try not to mention my name to Starfleet until you've had a chance to talk to them yourself."

"That was good of him," she said softly, and Chakotay nodded in agreement.

"He was very understanding," he said. He cleared his throat, and adopted a lighter tone. "Well, I'll leave you to talk to Patterson now. Have fun explaining the last eight years in a single coherent conversation, because I have a feeling that's exactly what he expects you to do."

"In that case, I should just send him Voyager's logs and be done with it."

"Somehow, I doubt that will cut it."

"Want to stick around and help me explain?" she teased.

Chakotay shook his head. "You're on your own, Kathryn. You're the one who's on a first-name basis with those Starfleet stiffs." He smiled viciously.

"Dismissed, Maquis rebel," she said, pointing imperiously at the door. "That's a Starfleet expression for 'Get out.'"

"Aye aye, captain." He slung his jacket over his shoulder and picked up his boots.

"And Chakotay?" she said quickly, just before he reached the door.

He looked back at her questioningly.

She hesitated a moment. "I think we just experienced one of those scenarios, in that shuttlebay," she said slowly, "where 'thank you' doesn't really begin to cover it."

He looked at her and smiled ever so slightly. "I'm sure you'll think of something better to give me than two little words," he said. His expression grew serious again. "And about the Dominion War, and the news about the Maquis..."

"Don't say anything to anyone just yet," she said. "When I'm through with Starfleet Command we'll inform the crew together."

"All of them, or just my crew?"

"We only have one crew," she said firmly.

He smiled a little sadly, nodded slightly, and then he was gone.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note:** To answer your question, NaginiFay: yes, I chose to make my story slightly A/U in that Voyager has had no contact with Starfleet since disappearing from the Badlands. And thanks to you and everyone else who left a review!

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

"Teacher?"

Phoebe Llewelyn looked up from Celia's sketchbook and saw Jonathan slouched in his chair with his hand in the air.

"Yes?" she said.

"I need help," Jonathan said. His leg jiggled impatiently and there was a definite whiny edge to his voice. Phoebe suppressed a sigh. It was tempting to tell him to wait until she was done with Celia, but she knew from experience that the longer Jonathan was left to stew, the more disruptive he became.

Phoebe patted Celia's shoulder. "I'll be right back." She crossed over to Jonathan and saw that his sketchbook was still blank.

"Problem, kiddo?" Phoebe asked.

"I don't know what to draw," he complained.

"Well, the assignment is to draw something from nature," Phoebe said.

Jonathan scowled. "I don't want to draw flowers. That's girl stuff."

"Claude Monet would disagree with you," Phoebe said.

"Who?"

Phoebe smiled. "He was an impressionist painter from centuries ago. He loved to paint flowers. But you don't have to draw something beautiful. You can draw anything from nature. Can you think of any living creatures that are scary, or ugly?"

"What, like spiders and stuff?"

"Sure, draw a spider. They're part of nature."

Jonathan visibly perked up, and picked up his pencil. "I'm going to make it super ugly."

"That's the spirit." Phoebe let her voice drop a tone. "Hairy legs. Buggy eyes. Big, drippy fangs. See if you can make Mrs. Levine wet her pants when she sees it."

His eyes went round with surprise, and then he snorted with barely-suppressed laughter.

"But don't tell her I said that," Phoebe said quickly, looking around to make sure Mrs. Levine hadn't come back in without her noticing. Phoebe had only met the third-grade substitute teacher today, and she hadn't struck Phoebe as the type that would quite get Phoebe's humor right off the bat. If she wasn't careful, she'd get herself into trouble with the principal. Again.

Jonathan shrugged and bent to his work, and Phoebe went back over to Celia to help correct her pencil grip again.

Celia was just starting to get the hang of it when Mrs. Levine came back in. Phoebe glanced at the chrono and frowned. She had the class until 10:30 a.m., when she would move to the fourth-grade class to help them with painting, and she had assumed Mrs. Levine would keep doing prep work until then.

"Mrs. Llewelyn?" Mrs. Levine said. "Mr. Young said you have a call in the office."

"Can't I call them back at lunchtime?" Phoebe had turned her com off for a reason. "I'm in class until then."

Mrs. Levine shrugged. "Whoever it was, said it was important."

Instantly Phoebe's mind flashed on Kathryn. If she'd fallen ill... but Mom knew what to do for a feverish baby just as well as she did. She couldn't have become so sick in the last two hours that Mom would need to call her urgently. Maybe one of the boys had gotten hurt at school. It wouldn't be the first time, and baseball practice had started for both of them now.

"Okay. I'll try to be back as quick as I can," she said to Mrs. Levine. "Just keep them on task."

Phoebe hurried to the office. Mr. Young was on a call of his own, but he saw her and waved a hand toward the empty conference room. She found the call waiting for her there. Pressing the button to accept the transmission, the image of a balding man in a Starfleet admiral's uniform appeared on the screen.

Whatever Phoebe had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"Owen?" she said blankly.

"I'm sorry to call you at work, Phoebe," he said. "But I need to ask you about Gretchen. Where is she usually, this time of day?"

"She should be home, with Kathryn. Why, isn't she answering?"

"I haven't tried calling her yet."

Phoebe's brow creased with confusion. "Then why...?"

Owen cleared his throat. "I need to talk to her, Phoebe. In person. And I think you should be there, too. I didn't want to call her first, and make her sit there and worry for who knows how long while I tracked you down and then transported over."

 _Well, now_ I'm _going to sit here and worry_ , Phoebe didn't say.

"Has something happened?" she said instead, trying to keep her voice level. She didn't have any real hope that something had. It had been nearly six months since she and Owen Paris had harassed anyone at Starfleet Command, and it was doubtful the admiralty would have decided to reopen the investigation without the motivation of yet another meeting with the families. And fewer and fewer of them were coming to these little interventions, anyway. Even Mark, as determined as he had been for far longer than most, had stopped coming the last two years. Deep down inside Phoebe sensed the futility of what they were doing, but she wasn't ready to give up yet, not as long as Owen was willing to help. She knew it wouldn't bring Kathryn back, but if only they could discover what had happened to her, that would be something. A big something.

"I'll tell you everything I know," Owen said, "but not over the coms. Can you meet me at your mother's house?"

Phoebe tried to read his expression, but she couldn't tell what Owen was thinking. He looked a little tired, perhaps, but if he were also angry, or happy, or sad, she couldn't say. He had had too much experience, in his many years of command, honing his poker face. In all those meetings with the admiralty, he had remained so stern and remote that she never would have suspected, if she hadn't already known, that it was his own son's fate he was trying to ascertain.

But he had been as tenacious as Phoebe, almost frighteningly so. Every setback and discouragement had rolled off him like water off a duck's back. He just kept going and going. Was he doing it for the sake of his wife? Phoebe had picked up troubling hints here and there in her interactions with Julia, and she worried about their marriage. It wouldn't be the first time the loss of a child had led to marital troubles. Suddenly it hit Phoebe that Owen didn't have the Federation logo behind him, but rather a cherry-wood bookshelf with the morning sun slanting across it. He was calling from home in the middle of the day. That was probably significant, but Phoebe couldn't think why.

"Okay," she said slowly. "I'll have to let the principal know I'm leaving, and then I'll walk over. I should be there in 15 minutes."

"Good. I'll meet you outside the house."

"See you then."

The transmission cut. Phoebe stood there for a minute, fist pressed to her lips, and then she exited the conference room and left a message with Mr. Young for the principal, saying she'd been called away and wouldn't be back the rest of the day.

"Everything okay?" Mr. Young asked after he'd taken down her message.

"Yes, it's fine," she said automatically.

"You'd say that if you'd just been bit by a rattlesnake," he said.

"Yeah," Phoebe said, distracted, and left. Outside it was comfortably warm for mid-May, and the humidity was still mercifully low by Indiana standards. Buried in her own thoughts, Phoebe barely registered the familiar houses she passed, or the neighbors out working in their gardens. Fortunately she had been making this journey since she was in grade school herself and she didn't need to use her brain to walk it. She was three blocks away before she realized she had left her bag at the school. Well, no point in going back for it now.

Two doors from her mother's house, she saw the blue shimmer of a transporter beam ahead. It deposited Owen Paris on the sidewalk and then faded away.

"Hi," she said as she walked up to him, a little breathless. She'd been walking faster than she meant to.

Owen nodded. "Why don't you go in first and let her know I'm here? I'll wait on the porch."

He had managed to arrange for a site-to-site transport, and he wasn't bothering with chit-chat. Phoebe felt a cold stab of fear. Maybe he wasn't coming to talk about reopening the investigation. Maybe a ship had somehow come across a scrap of debris from Voyager. Or a body. By all the stars in heaven... She had thought she wanted to know, and now suddenly she didn't.

In silence, she and Owen went down the path together and then Phoebe left him standing next to the porch swing, turning a PADD over and over in his hands, while she went inside. It was cool and dark in the hallway after the spring sunshine, and Phoebe paused a moment to let her eyes adjust.

"Hello?" Gretchen called from upstairs. "Someone there?" Phoebe could hear little Kathryn making cooing noises up there.

Phoebe took a deep breath. "It's me, Mom," she called out, and headed up the stairs.

Gretchen came out on the landing. Her white hair was pulled back in a low bun and she was dressed in a neat blue skirt and blouse. "Already? What happened, did they cancel a class?"

"No," Phoebe said, giving her mom a hug at the top of the stairs. She could see little Kathryn lying on a blanket through the door to her old bedroom, happily kicking her legs and gumming away on a toy. "We have a visitor, Mom. Owen's out on the porch waiting to talk to us."

"Owen Paris?" Gretchen looked surprised, and then almost instantly concerned. "What about?"

"He didn't say."

She could practically see her mother mentally working through all the same possibilities she had just considered, and she saw the same fear growing in her eyes.

"I better go let him in," Gretchen said, taking a step down the stairs and then pausing. "Oh, but the baby-"

"I'll get her," Phoebe said quickly. "Did you give her a bottle?"

"No, not yet-"

"I might as well feed her myself, since I'm here." Phoebe scooped up Kathryn and the blanket, and followed Gretchen downstairs.

"Owen, come on in," Gretchen was saying, anxiety edging her voice as she held the front door open. "It's so good to see you. Do you want something to drink?"

Owen shook his head as he came in. "No, thank you, Gretchen. I'm sorry to impose without warning like this."

Gretchen's smile was a little stiff. "Not at all. Come and sit down."

They all sat down in the living room. Phoebe settled Kathryn on her lap, and unsurprisingly, this close to feeding time, the baby turned and started to nuzzle her chest. Quickly Phoebe draped the blanket over herself and started to feed the baby. It was just as well, as this was the best way to keep her quiet, anyway.

"How have you been?" Owen asked Gretchen.

"Owen?" Gretchen said.

"Hmmm?"

Gretchen's smile was painfully polite. "Whatever you have to say, you better just come right out and say it."

Owen nodded. "Yes, of course. Well, I'll tell you what I can, but I have to warn you that there are certain questions I can't answer right now because a lot of it is classified." He cleared his throat. "Yesterday, Starfleet Command received a... rather unexpected transmission from Starbase 3, about 30 lightyears from here. I can't talk yet about the circumstances that led to that transmission, but to make a long story short, among other information, we now have a copy of Voyager's logs, and we know what happened to her."

He paused a moment to let that sink in. Phoebe could feel her heart thundering in her chest. Instinctively she clutched the baby a little tighter against her body.

"Go on," Gretchen said calmly.

"It started with the Val Jean," Owen said. He didn't need to remind them it was the Maquis ship Kathryn had been under orders to capture. Phoebe still remembered all too well the rage she had felt, two years after Voyager's disappearance, when Starfleet had finally declassified that crucial little piece of information. Up until then, the official story had been that Voyager was studying plasma storms in the Badlands.

"As the Maquis were traveling in the Badlands, they encountered a coherent tetryon beam," Owen continued.

"What's that?" Phoebe interrupted.

"We're not sure, exactly," Owen admitted. "We've never recorded a phenomenon quite like it before. We believe it was some type of scan, initiated by an alien force Starfleet had not yet identified."

"The magnetic variations the Exeter recorded when it went to investigate the scene," Phoebe said sharply. "Was that from this scan?"

"No," Owen said. "It turns out, _that_ was from the displacement wave that hit the Val Jean shortly after. That's an artificially generated high-energy phenomenon," he added, before Phoebe could ask. "Again, not something Starfleet had ever seen before. It had the effect of picking up the Val Jean and moving it instantaneously across a great distance, not through subspace like warp engines do, but through some other means."

"It wasn't destroyed?" Gretchen said.

"No," said Owen. "It was moved. And so was Voyager, when it came on the scene and encountered the same coherent tetryon beam, and the same displacement wave. Kathryn survived the journey, and so did Tom, and most of the crew."

"Moved... where?" Gretchen whispered.

"A great distance," Owen repeated. "About 75,000 lightyears." He activated the PADD he was holding, and turned it around to show them a map of the galaxy. "You know that our galaxy is divided into quadrants. Here's the Federation, straddling the Alpha and Beta Quadrants." He pointed. "And here is the Delta Quadrant." He gestured at the upper right quadrant, by far the most blank part of the map. Just about the only thing on it was a blinking marker near the far edge of the galaxy. Owen pointed to it. "That's where they went, both ships."

Phoebe stared at the blinking marker. So far. Impossibly far. She had no head for distances or figuring out how long it would take to travel them, but she knew the Federation had very little information about even the center of the galaxy, and that blinking marker was more than twice that distance from Earth.

"Not only were they unable to come back the way they came," Owen said quietly, "but they did not even have the means to send a message across such a distance. Kathryn did the only thing she could do. She set course for Earth and set off to come back home the long way."

"How long...?" Phoebe breathed.

"Assuming top cruising speed? About 75 years. And of course they had to stop for repairs and resupply. That wasn't an easy task, given that they were in totally uncharted space, encountering species the Federation had never even heard of, much less established relations with." A sudden eagerness awoke in Owen's face. "You can't imagine all the things that they saw. Just wait until Voyager's logs are released and you get a look at them. I've barely even had time to skim them yet, but I can already tell that Kathryn and her crew made more discoveries in their years in the Delta Quadrant than most officers do in their entire careers." The pride in his voice was unmistakable, but Gretchen hardly registered it.

"Years?" Gretchen repeated, and there was horror in her voice. "Kathryn was out there for _years_... all alone... in strange space, with no one to help... Oh, Owen!"

"No, Gretchen, no," Owen said, and for the first time Phoebe heard passion in his voice. "She wasn't alone. She had Tom with her. She had her whole crew. They looked out for each other, because they knew they didn't have anyone else. They adapted. And I forgot to tell you. The Maquis ship, the Val Jean; it was destroyed soon after they arrived in the Delta Quadrant, but the crew survived, and Kathryn did something... a little unorthodox. She integrated the Maquis into her crew, and - bless her heart - she actually managed to win their loyalty, if you can believe that. She really did a remarkable job, given the hand fate dealt her. You should be a very proud mother."

Two silent tears overflowed Gretchen's eyes, and with a shaking hand she took up a tissue to wipe them away. Fighting not to lose control herself, Phoebe lifted the corner of the blanket and looked down to see that little Kathryn had fallen asleep. Carefully she readjusted her clothing and pulled the blanket off the baby's head, and snuggled her more securely in her arms. Kathryn was sleeping deeply, her little fists pressed up against her round cheeks.

Gretchen looked at the baby for a long moment, sniffing slightly, and then with visible effort she composed herself.

"You've been telling us very gently, Owen," she said, and now there was steel behind her voice as she looked into his eyes. "But I'm ready now to hear how it ended."

Phoebe knew there was only one way it could have ended. Space was dangerous in the best of circumstances, and for a single starship alone in uncharted territory, it was inevitable that Voyager must have encountered a hostile race, or a stellar phenomenon, or something else entirely unknown that they wouldn't have been able to escape. Suddenly Phoebe remembered the one thing she _had_ heard about the Delta Quadrant - that it was rumored to be the home territory of the Borg Collective - and despite her best efforts, blind fear clawed at her. The one thing that was worse than death...

 _Oh please, not the Borg. Oh please, not the Borg._

"Very well," Owen said. "You know Kathryn. She wasn't content to just take the long way home. They were constantly searching for shortcuts to either get them home sooner or at least send a message to us. They found something that looked promising, and unfortunately I can't tell you the exact nature of the phenomenon just yet, but they decided to give it a try. That transmission that I told you about at the beginning, the one that came from Starbase 3 and contained Voyager's logs?"

He paused a moment.

"That transmission wasn't just _about_ Voyager. It was _from_ Voyager."

"You don't mean... they're still out there?" Phoebe blurted out, her mind leaping to conclusions. "They found a way to send their logs to us, and they're still out there?!" Gretchen was staring at him, hands clasped tightly together and pressed up against her lips.

Owen shook his head, smiling. "You're not listening, Phoebe. I said the transmission came from Starbase 3. Voyager didn't send a message from the Delta Quadrant. Voyager _came_ from the Delta Quadrant. They arrived at Starbase 3 yesterday, all in one piece, everybody alive and well. They're there right now."

Phoebe heard the words, but she didn't understand them. She couldn't speak for a long moment. Finally, she managed to force out another question. "They're where?" she said numbly.

"Voyager is at Starbase 3," Owen said patiently. "Kathryn is there, Tom is there, there are 162 people onboard Voyager who made it back from the Delta Quadrant. They're just 30 lightyears from us."

"I don't believe it," Phoebe said. "I don't-"

It hit her as abruptly as a flash flood in the desert. Her mind could not accept what Owen was saying, and yet her heart did, and suddenly all the pain and anguish and uncertainty from the last eight years came gushing out of her, and she started sobbing like a child, great wracking sobs that shook her shoulders and threatened to disturb little Kathryn where she slept in her arms. Phoebe had just enough presence of mind left to set the baby down in the corner of the couch, and then she just sat there with face in hands and let the tears come.

Kathryn alive... Kathryn alive! Kathryn _home_! And Phoebe had been hoping and praying just to know how she died!

She cried and she cried. She couldn't stop. It was entirely out of her control. All she could do was get a fistful of tissues from the coffee table and wait for the storm to subside.

And mother... she wasn't even crying. She put a comforting arm around Phoebe's shoulders and fixed her gaze on a smiling Owen, her expression almost angry.

"You can't make a mistake on this, Owen," Gretchen said sharply. "You have to be certain. I can't bear a mixup. If this is a mistake..."

"It isn't a mistake, trust me," Owen said forcefully. "You'd better believe I made sure of it before I went home and told Julia this morning. I was up all night, reading the reports, reading Voyager's logs, talking to the admiralty, everybody I could get a hold of in headquarters..."

"And Kathryn?" Phoebe said eagerly, her voice wobbling through her tears. "Did you get to see her? Did you get to talk to her?"

"I didn't talk to her myself," Owen said. "But Admiral Patterson did, and I talked to him. He said that she looked well. She told him she was happy to be home. But look... don't take my word for it. Look at this!"

He picked up the PADD he had used to show them the map of the Delta Quadrant, and tapped a few controls. Then he turned it around so they could see.

It was a picture of Kathryn.

Not like the pictures Starfleet always took of their officers for their official files, those horrible unsmiling closeups taken with flat, artificial lighting. Instead, Kathryn was standing with hands on hips in front of a window full of stars, wearing the old style of Starfleet uniform, with that familiar crooked smile on her lips, and though she looked beautiful, she was also unmistakably older. At the very bottom where a photographer might put their name, it simply and inexplicably said in small gold letters: "The Doctor."

And her hair...

Phoebe stared, and the tears stopped as suddenly as they had started.

"How many times-" she said in astonishment, rubbing at her blurry eyes, "-did I tell her to cut her hair that way? Mom, look at it! Didn't I always tell her to do that? And she never listened! Until she's a million lightyears away from me! Mom, look at it!"

Gretchen was looking. And looking. And looking. She snatched the PADD out of Owen's hands and devoured the picture with hungry eyes.

"Is it really her?" she cried out. "Is it really her? Owen... is she really home?"

"Yes, she really is," Owen said gently. "She's alive, and she'll be back home with you soon. Just a few more days, and you can see her yourself."

"Oh!" Gretchen choked out, and suddenly she went into a silent paroxysm of grief, or joy, or maybe it was both at once. She pressed the photo against her heart with both hands and shook her head wildly.

"Eight years!" she cried out. "Eight years!" She tried to speak again, but couldn't. Now it was her turn to sob uncontrollably, and Phoebe put her arms around her mom and held her.

It was a long time before Gretchen was calm enough to talk, but Phoebe was ready to do enough talking for the both of them. She peppered Owen with questions.

"Can't we talk to her now? On a vid?"

"Soon," Owen assured them. "Not yet. Soon. Headquarters is trying to work out the details. Everyone has to be notified first, all the families. And the admirals have to work out what the crew can and can't talk about just yet. I told you, a lot of things are being classified as we speak. Like how they got here."

"But why are they still at Starbase 3?" Phoebe asked. "You said they've been there since yesterday. Why can't they come home now?"

"As I understand it, Voyager needed some repairs," Owen said. "They'll probably remain at the starbase for another day or two."

"Tuvok!" Phoebe suddenly shouted. "If the Val Jean crew was recovered... did Tuvok come back too?"

"I can't say," Owen said. "We have to talk to the families of everyone first, you understand. You two are the first I came to see. You're the first to know, besides Julia and myself."

"Julia! Oh, Owen, I'm so happy for her, and for you. She must have been so glad to hear about Tom. How did she take it?"

"She was still crying when I left," Owen said. "Don't worry, Kathleen and Moira were with her. They were all having a good howl. They must have read the letter a hundred times by now."

"Letter?" Phoebe latched onto that. "What letter?"

"The letter from Tom." Owen smiled.

"You got a letter from him? What did he say?" she demanded.

"He said-" Owen was silent for a long moment. At first Phoebe thought he was just remembering what Tom had said, but then she realized that Owen - Owen Paris, the man who had never wept, or raged, or scarcely raised his voice in all those meetings about Voyager through all those years - was fighting off tears.

"He said that Kathryn made him helmsman," Owen said, his eyes glistening. "He's, uh... he's back in uniform. He's a Bridge officer." He paused for a long moment, throat working. "And he, uh-" Owen cleared his throat noisily. "He got married while he was gone."

"No!" Phoebe said. "Tom, married?" Owen nodded in confirmation.

"It gets even better," he said, smiling despite the misty eyes. "He has a little baby daughter, too." He looked around for a moment, patting his uniform vacantly. "I should have brought a copy of the picture. Wait until you see her. She's perfect, just perfect."

"I can't believe it!" Phoebe handed Gretchen another handful of tissues, and added, "You okay, Mom?" Gretchen nodded as she wiped her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Suddenly a thought hit Phoebe. "So we were wrong about the Equinox," she said. "They didn't have anything to do with it after all." She had always known it was a long shot. The Equinox had been far from the Badlands when it disappeared, but the timing - just two weeks before Voyager disappeared - had caught the attention of herself and Owen, and with nothing better to do they had pursued the idea for a time. After all, the Adelphi had found magnetic distortions at the Equinox's last known location as well, although Starfleet Command had explained to Phoebe many times, with growing impatience, that the phenomenon was not uncommon and there were dozens of explanations for what might have caused it.

Owen raised his eyebrows. "No, actually," he said. "We were right. I forgot to mention that, too. Voyager found the Equinox at some point. They had been transported to the same area by the same power. The ship was destroyed, but Kathryn managed to rescue that crew as well."

The rage Phoebe had felt each time some admiral brushed off their increasingly creative theories on what had happened to Voyager now seemed high and remote, in a place where it could not touch her.

"I expect to receive formal apologies from everyone in San Francisco who patted my head and told me I wasn't a scientist and that I should run back home and play with my paint set," she said blithely, patting Gretchen's back comfortingly. Her mother's sobs were starting to subside somewhat. "When will you tell everyone else, Owen? The Cavits, and the Delaneys, and the Ransoms, and everyone? I wish I could be a fly on the wall when they find out. They're going to be so excited."

"Headquarters is sending out a small army of admirals and counselors to break the news to families as quickly as possible, before any of this hits the newsfeeds," Owen said. "I imagine it will take a while, unfortunately. We're worried that the families of the Maquis crew, in particular, will be difficult to track down. We don't have locations for all of them. And the sheer numbers we have to reach, with three crews involved... besides the 162 survivors, we'll also have to track down the families of those who were killed in action."

"Yes, of course," Phoebe said slowly, her enthusiasm dampened somewhat. Of course there would have been casualties. A deep wave of gratitude washed over her. Kathryn was alive and well. Not all the families would be receiving such good news today.

"How can we get a letter?" Gretchen asked suddenly. She swallowed and lifted her chin, the flow of tears down her cheeks finally slowing. "You got a letter from Tom. How can we get one from Kathryn?"

Owen smiled a little. "You have one." He pointed to the PADD Gretchen was still clutching, with Kathryn's picture on it. "There's a text file on there, too. It will be short, I'm afraid. They were told to simply confirm their well-being and share a little personal news, if they wished. Starfleet Command was worried the families wouldn't believe the good news, otherwise."

Owen stood up and smoothed the creases in his pants. "I think I've told you ladies everything I can for now, but give me a call if you think of anything else. You should hear from me or someone at Starfleet soon with an update. I'm going to get out of your hair so you can read that in privacy."

Gretchen slowly rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around Owen. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything, everything you've done all these years. Thank you."

She held Owen for a long time, but finally she released him and it was Phoebe's turn to embrace him.

"You're welcome to tell Josh and the boys, of course," Owen said to Phoebe as she walked him to the door, "but otherwise, keep it quiet for now, and for heaven's sake don't talk to any reporters. We'll do a news conference as soon as everyone's family is notified, but until then we want everything under wraps."

"What about Mark?" Phoebe said. "Has anyone told him yet?"

"I volunteered to do it," Owen said. "I checked and his last class ends in an hour."

"You should bring Jack too," Phoebe said anxiously. "His counselor. To be there when you tell him. I'm not really sure... how he's going to take this."

"Already called Jack." Owen patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

He nodded and then headed down the sidewalk, the sunlight flashing on his rank bars as he went.

* * *

In South Carolina, another admiral was walking down another sidewalk. Behind her, through the open door of the house, an officer in blue could be seen sitting between a gray-haired Asian couple, one arm around each of their shoulders, as they gazed hungrily at a photo on a PADD.

"Look how old he looks!" the mother sobbed. "And a lieutenant now! Oh John, he isn't our little Harry any more!"

And with shaking hands, the father took off his spectacles and cleaned them. "Our child," he whispered. "Our only child."

* * *

"Get off my property."

The woman with long jet-black hair glared at the Starfleet officers standing on her front step, the humid heat of the Sonoran coast causing beads of sweat to roll down their faces and dampen the collars of their uniforms.

"Ma'am," the older one said quickly, his hands up in a placating gesture, "I think you're going to want to hear what we have to say."

"Are you here to get on your knees and beg forgiveness for what you did to my family?" the woman snapped. Although her face was startlingly beautiful, the tattoo over her left eye and the scowl on her face gave her a ferocious appearance. "If not, get out!"

The officers looked at each other uneasily. Seeing it, the woman didn't say another word, but turned and slammed the door shut.

"Ma'am!" The woman in blue hastily knocked on the door again. "Ma'am, please! We have news regarding your brother! Please open the door!"

She knocked and pleaded for a long time. Finally, just as they were ready to give up and leave, the door opened again.

The woman's eyes were suspiciously bright, but she looked at them without pity as they wilted in the heat, and said:

"What about my brother?"

* * *

"Assimilated by the Borg," Irene Hansen repeated. She glanced up at the officers, and tried to smile. "I feared it was so, all those years ago, when we lost contact with Magnus and Erin. Some part of me has always hoped otherwise. But if this is correct... then my brother and his wife are truly gone."

She shook her head, and looked again at the photo. "I never dreamed I'd see their little girl again. Just look at her! As beautiful as her mother. Maybe even more so. I used to babysit her, you know, right here on this farm. Little Annika. She loved my strawberry tarts. She was a feisty little thing, but sometimes I could bribe her into behaving with a strawberry tart."

The officers chuckled appreciatively, and Irene looked down and touched the photo with a finger.

"It's a shame about the implants, though," she murmured. "What a lovely young woman. I can't even begin to imagine what she's been through."

* * *

"You can't find the father, either?" the admiral asked the commander in surprise.

"No, sir," the commander reported. "He apparently left Kessik IV more than four years ago. It must have been on unregistered transport, because there are no records of his departure. None of his neighbors know where he went."

The admiral sighed. "Well, I guess that's it. That's the best we can do. We'll just have to notify Torres that we can't deliver her letters."

"Sir, regarding the mother, maybe I could contact the embassy on Qo'noS. They may be able to access information we can't."

"You know as well as I do how long it takes for the Klingons to respond to requests like that. We have a hundred other families to track down right now. Let's just leave it at that. If she wants to search for her family, she's welcome to do it on her own time."

The commander hesitated. "I know the difficulties, sir, but she hasn't seen her parents in a very long time, and I'm sure she's as anxious as the others-"

"Please," the admiral said. "If she cared so much about her family, she wouldn't have turned traitor. Start on the next name on your list."

The commander nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

* * *

In the dry heat of ShiKahr, a Vulcan woman with smooth, dark skin stood at an austere stone balcony. Her eyes were bright with moisture, perhaps due to irritation from the dust stirred into the air by the Vulcan-Starfleet liaison officer who had just left her home.

She stared fixedly at the distant T'Karath Sanctuary, hazy in the heat wave of midday. A muscle near her eye twitched, then a muscle in her jaw, and then her face went still. She looked sternly at the young girl beside her.

"Dry your tears, Asil," she said in a low, clear voice. "They are unbecoming for one your age. Come, we must call your brothers."

* * *

On Jupiter Station, Dr. Lewis Zimmerman held a PADD in his pale, wrinkled hands and looked at the officers standing by his bedside.

"What do you mean," he said in utter bafflement, "one of my holograms wrote me a letter?"

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** One of the things that saddened me the most as the final shot of "Endgame" appeared on my TV screen was realizing that we never got to see the Voyager crewmember's families react to the news or reunite with their loved ones. The oversight was especially egregious since the writers had gone to the trouble of exploring their relationships, such as Tom Paris and his father, Janeway and Mark, B'Elanna and her mother, Harry's urgency to get back to his parents, Tuvok missing his wife and kids, etc. I hope this chapter, and several more to come, succeeds in my effort to rectify this.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _Captain's log, stardate 54406.1_

 _We've completed transferring our Borg patients from the Delta Quadrant to the hospital ship the U.S.S. McCoy, and the Doctor is now briefing the medical personnel there on how to care for the former drones during their transport to Earth. Meanwhile, the crew of Starbase 3 has completed examining our crewmembers for signs of any infectious diseases we may have brought from the Delta Quadrant and we've been cleared to return home._

 _Crew morale is a mixed bag right now. Most of the crew are thrilled to be back, but those who originally hailed from the Val Jean and Equinox crews are concerned about the reception they'll get back on Earth. I've received assurances from Starfleet Command that they'll permit each crewmember to reunite with their family before initiating legal proceedings. Even so, the former Maquis members in particular are leaning on their friends for support, after learning that their compatriots here at home were killed during the Dominion War._

 _Our repairs are nearly complete and we've been ordered to begin our four-day journey to Earth first thing in the morning. But first, there's one more thing to do._

"Henley, Mariah!"

Janeway walked into the main promenade of Starbase 3 and looked at the communication terminals installed in booths around the perimeter. The place had been cleared of civilian shop owners for the purposes of this event. Every booth was currently occupied by a Voyager crewmember who was permitted one short conversation with their family, and from behind the curtains came a happy babble of conversation from many voices. Officers from the starbase were standing by, helping set up the transmissions and ensuring no one overstayed their time in the booths.

Janeway joined the short line of her crewmembers waiting in alphabetical order for their turn, and looked around the promenade with interest. Some were already through talking to their families, and they were gathered in small knots, excitedly sharing their family's news with each other. Janeway smiled to see their joy. If only they had been able to find some way to communicate with the Alpha Quadrant years ago, but they had lost their one opportunity when the Hirogen had destroyed the ancient network of communication relays they had found.

"Howard, Merri!" an officer called, and the engineer hurried over to the available comm booth.

Suddenly she realized there was one small group of her crewmembers here who did not look joyful. Chakotay, Chell and Ken Dalby were standing around Mike Ayala, who was openly weeping, and they were comforting him with pats on the back and low words in his ears.

Noticing Janeway looking that way, Chakotay slipped away and came over to her.

"Bad news?" Janeway asked.

Chakotay nodded. "His wife remarried while he was gone," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes briefly. "I was afraid of that." She sighed deeply. "He must be devastated. I can't even imagine."

"He's been dreading it for years," Chakotay said. "He told me once that a part of him was hoping she would remarry, so that at least the boys would have a father in their lives, but even so, it has to hurt."

Janeway thought fleetingly of those two teenage boys. What must they be experiencing, having gotten used to a new father only to find out they had the first one back in their lives?

"I hope Samantha Wildman doesn't get the same kind of news today," Chakotay said.

"Jacobson, Phillip!" an officer called.

"Didn't you hear?" Janeway said. He shook his head. "Greskrendtregk was able to board the Yorktown when it left Deep Space Nine with materials for the station's repair," she continued. "He boarded Voyager just a few minutes ago. Turns out, he did wait for her. Naomi is probably meeting her father right now."

"I hope that goes well," Chakotay said. "If I were in Naomi's shoes, I think I might be more scared than excited. Her own father is a complete stranger to her."

"Neelix was there to help smooth things over."

"I'm sure he will. I'm glad Sam got good news, at least."

"And what about you?" she asked Chakotay with more than a little trepidation. "Good news, or bad?"

He smiled slightly. "I just talked to my sister."

"Oh, thank goodness," Janeway said, relief flooding her. "She's all right?"

Chakotay nodded. "She's fine. Still living on Earth with her husband, in a little fishing village in Mexico."

"I'm so glad," she said, and she meant it with all her heart. Chakotay had gotten enough bad news since they came home, and with both parents already gone, it was good that he had at least one family member to go home to. "She must have been surprised to hear about you."

"I don't think she believes it yet," Chakotay said. "She's gotten so used to pain in her life, I think she's reached a point where she expects it."

"Janeway, Kathryn!" a voice called, and Janeway looked over to see a station officer beckoning her to an open comm booth.

"I'll let you go," Chakotay said quickly. "Who are you talking to?"

"My mother and my sister," she said, rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms on her thighs.

Chakotay hesitated a moment. "Just them?"

She nodded. "For today." She took a quick breath. "Oh, great. I should have brought tissues. I'm about to lose it, and I haven't even seen them yet."

"Don't worry, there's a box in every booth." Chakotay winked at her. "See you back on Voyager."

* * *

Lost in thought, Janeway walked the corridors back to Voyager's docking port.

The call to her family had been deeply satisfying. Her mother had looked different, with white hair instead of gray; yet she had been so lively, so happy, that she did not really seem any older. And Phoebe, just as brash as ever, had chattered nearly non-stop about her painting projects, her family adventures with Josh and the boys, and their frustrations dealing with Starfleet as they worked to discover what had happened to Voyager.

Gretchen and Phoebe had both wanted to know all about the Delta Quadrant and Janeway's journey through it, but the time had flown by too quickly and she had hardly had a chance to scratch the surface of all that had happened before one of the station's officers had apologetically told her the time was up. There had been just enough time for Phoebe to tease Janeway about a surprise she wanted to show her as soon as she landed on Earth. Knowing Phoebe, such a promise made Janeway more nervous than anticipatory.

Fortunately, it would only be a few more days before they would all see each other in person, and then they would have plenty of time to catch up. Starfleet Command had told her they would wait a few weeks to schedule the debriefings to give everyone a short vacation. Heaven knew they needed it.

Janeway reached the outer ring of the administrative section, and paused to enjoy the close-up view of Voyager through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She looked pretty good for a ship that had just gone toe-to-toe with two Borg cubes, although there was an ugly score across the hull on Decks 6 and 7 that spoiled the effect somewhat. She wondered if they would be able to get that repaired before departing for Earth.

So focused was she on her ship that she was startled when a voice suddenly spoke from nearby.

"Captain Janeway?"

She whirled in surprise. There was a young man lounging against the windows who was dressed, not in a uniform, but in a button-up shirt and vest. He held a slim PADD in his hand, one that wasn't Starfleet issue.

"According to the Federation database," he remarked casually, "your ship is lost and you're dead." He straightened up and smoothed the wrinkles from his slacks. "Your ship doesn't look very lost," he said, glancing at Voyager through the windows, "and you don't look very dead."

He grinned at her in a friendly way, although they were definitely not friends, because she was certain she had never seen him before.

"This is a restricted area," she said. "Starfleet personnel only."

He shrugged a little sheepishly. "I have friends in Starfleet. One of them let me aboard the Yorktown. Don't worry, Captain, I'm harmless. I just have a few questions I want to ask you."

She gazed at him levelly. "You're a reporter?"

"Guilty as charged."

She rubbed her forehead wearily. That was fast. Much faster than she had expected. "I'm sorry, but I'm not authorized to talk to reporters. You need to contact Starfleet headquarters."

"I could do that," he agreed readily, "but I came all the way from Deep Space 9 to talk to you. A Borg attack on Federation space? That's the news of the year. Every reporter in the Federation is talking about it. But a lost ship returned home on the exact same day? That's an interesting twist, isn't it? Starfleet didn't say a word about you when they released information on the Borg attack yesterday, but I can't help but think the two events must be related. Where have you and your crew been all this time?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "There will be a press conference at the Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards in two days. I'll make a statement then. I'm sure you can get a pass for that, Mr...?"

He held out his hand. "Sisko. Jake Sisko."

"Mr. Sisko." As she shook his hand, somewhere in her head a bell went off. "You came from Deep Space 9? I don't suppose you're related to Benjamin Sisko?"

"He was my father," Sisko said.

She hesitated. "Was?"

He spoke matter-of-factly. "It's complicated, but you could say that he is, in a manner of speaking, dead."

Janeway paused for a moment, processing that. "I'm sorry to hear that. Your father was the last Starfleet officer I saw, outside of my own crew, before..." She waved her hand vaguely. "We had a long talk about the Maquis problem. He had very astute observations about the situation. He walked me to the boarding ramp before our departure and told me I had a beautiful ship. Won my heart forever."

Sisko smiled a little. "Sounds like dad, all right."

She nodded slowly. "Look, I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Sisko, but I'm afraid you came a long way for nothing. I'm not authorized to talk to reporters until the press conference."

"Hold on a minute," he said. "You do realize what's going to happen at that press conference, right? Someone from Starfleet Command is going to do most of the talking. Then they'll let you give a prepared statement, one that's been turned over and altered and massaged to make it sound how your superiors want it to sound, and your voice will have been lost entirely. And then you'll have a dozen holocams shoved into your face while reporters shout out questions, and let me tell you, Captain, we reporters don't enjoy that kind of a scrum any more than our subjects do. It turns into a race where we all pound out a story as quick as we can and don't always take the time for artistry, or worse, accuracy."

The scene he was describing was what Janeway dreaded most about their stop at Utopia Planetia, but she couldn't exactly say that. "I appreciate what you're saying, but it isn't my decision to make."

"Here's what I'm proposing," Sisko said quietly. "If you talk to me now, you can tell me the story your way, at leisure, with no admirals breathing down your neck. I'll have a day or two to write, do all the fact-checking I need, and go over and over my notes to make sure I quote you accurately. Then I'll send it to my editor and we'll polish it until it shines. We won't release it to the newsfeeds until the moment the press conference ends. That way you'll be following orders, I'll get my scoop, and we'll both have the satisfaction of seeing a high-quality story in publication."

It was tempting. Very tempting. What she wanted most was to make sure her crew were seen on their own terms, as they really were, before the public rumpus over war criminals and Borg drones and uppity holograms began to rage. If this Jake Sisko could make that happen...

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" she said.

"For one thing," he said, "if I don't, you'll tell everyone in Starfleet I'm a liar, and I'll lose all credibility. For another..." He paused. "I don't intend to disappoint my father."

Janeway thought for a minute, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

"I'll talk to you about my crew," she said at last. "In fact, there are a few I'd like you to meet yourself. They are-" She paused a moment, feeling her eyes moisten. "-some of the most incredible people you will ever meet. They've been through a lot, and I hope you won't rake them over the coals."

Sisko's gaze was direct, his brown eyes warm and reassuring. "I like to do my job the old-fashioned way, Captain," he said. "I do more listening than talking."

* * *

 _Captain's log, stardate 54409.9_

 _We've departed Starbase 3 and are now two days from our scheduled stop at Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards. As anxious as the crew is to get home, we've found the perfect cure for their restlessness: preparing Voyager for her first inspection in eight years._

"When I speak to you I want to hear an 'aye aye sir,' do you understand me?"

The entire unit, Janeway included, spoke in unison. "Aye aye, sir!"

The drill instructor paced between the ranks of Starfleet cadets, studying them all intently, and suddenly a dangerous light kindled in his eyes, and he sprang forward and got into the face of one young man.

"Eyes front, cadet, eyes front!" he screamed.

"Aye aye sir!" the unfortunate young man shouted, looking straight forward, his hands twitching with nervousness down by his side.

The drill instructor looked furious, and he raked his gaze over Janeway's unit and scowled.

"Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in!" he bellowed.

"Aye aye, sir!"

"This isn't quantum mechanics, cupcakes! If you think you can hack it here just because you know how to hit the books, then you'd better shape up fast! In Starfleet you are a fighting force!"

"Aye aye, sir!"

"If you wanted to be a scientist with a doughy gut and no discipline, then you should have joined a civilian institute!"

"Aye aye, sir!"

The drill instructor walked in front of Janeway, his eagle eyes raking over her. It was getting uncomfortable, holding her body in this rigid position, but she knew better than to slack off for an instant. She remained absolutely motionless, eyes straight forward, and prayed that the instructor would not find fault with her.

He was so close she could smell his sweat. Apparently screaming at new cadets was hard work. He looked her over and there was a tense moment. He took in a deep breath to shout something, but at that instant, Janeway heard the holodeck door open. Involuntarily, she jumped at the sound.

"Computer, freeze program," she said quickly. The last thing she needed was to explain to anyone what she was doing here. She abandoned her place among her unit, slipping past the drill instructor who had frozen with his mouth open, ready to bellow, and she headed toward the exit.

A few moments later, Chakotay emerged from behind a stand of trees at the edge of the parade grounds and looked around, first glancing up at the overcast sky and then across the ranks of cadets lined up rigidly at attention. Finally he spotted her and strode out across the flagstones.

"You know, Kathryn, if you miss Starfleet Academy this much, you could just wait a few more days and see the real thing," he said when he reached her.

She ignored this. "How are the interviews coming?" she asked.

"Mr. Sisko just finished talking to the Doctor. He said he'd like to come up to the Bridge to thank everyone for their time before he leaves."

"Permission granted, and have the crew prepare his shuttle for departure. What about preparations for the inspection?" she asked.

"On schedule so far. Ahead of schedule, actually. Seven was so efficient with her assignment that now she and the Astrometrics team are helping out in Engineering. B'Elanna was... less than thrilled."

"We could do worse than having a Borg overseeing inspection preparations, Klingon tempers notwithstanding. At least we know she'll pay attention to detail. What decks are complete?"

"Decks 4 through 10 are cleaned and all equipment checks out. We're having some trouble on Deck 2."

"Neelix?" she said knowingly. "Please don't tell me he's contaminated the bioneural gelpacks again..."

"I didn't see any strange cheese aging in the Mess Hall," Chakotay quipped. "But it seems he did fiddle with the power system without permission again."

Janeway huffed. "How many times have I told him-"

"He says the range burns his cherel sauce when it's set to Starfleet parameters."

"Can't he go three days without making cherel sauce?" Janeway demanded.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Chakotay said soothingly. "On Deck 3, my quarters and the VIP quarters are ready. What about the captain's quarters?"

"All done. I even cleaned under the bed."

"In that case, Deck 3 is ready. Tuvok is still overseeing diagnostics on the Bridge. And all the Jefferies tubes have been checked over."

"Vertical and horizontal?"

"Yes. Every single section has been seen by at least one pair of eyes."

She was already shaking her head. "That's not good enough. All work has to be checked. Shuffle up the names and assign crewmembers to inspect each other's portions of the Jefferies tubes. I don't want anything slipping through the cracks."

Chakotay looked mildly astonished. "You want the crew to go through all 17,000 meters of the tubes _twice_?"

"Is there a problem?"

Chakotay wasn't bothering to hide his grin. "Don't you think this is overkill, Kathryn? I know it's been a long time since we were inspected, but I don't think the admiral is going to be crawling through Jefferies tubes with a white glove, searching for motes of dust."

She didn't smile back. "You're only saying that because you've never met Admiral Paris."

"It can't be that bad."

"Can't it?"

Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "Is it? I always thought Tom was exaggerating about how demanding he was."

Janeway shook her head vigorously. "When Owen was my advisor for my junior honor thesis, he got me so worked up over the course of the term that I ended up getting stomach-aches every time I so much as thought about that wretched paper. It was a miracle I got through my other classes. It was a miracle I didn't have a complete breakdown."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

She shrugged. "It was good for me, actually. I learned how to handle pressure. I learned that even when I thought I had done my best, I could still do better. Hard lessons to learn, but important ones. Don't misunderstand me. I like Owen a lot. I did ask to be assigned to him on the Al-Batani, after all. He's an outstanding officer and very loyal to the people who serve with him. He helped make me the person I am today. It's just that the better he likes someone - the more brilliant he thinks they are - the harder he is on them."

"Any chance he's relaxed a little over the years?"

"For the purposes of this inspection, let's assume that he hasn't."

Chakotay nodded, and then looked over the frozen holoprogram and all the cadets locked in position, heads up and feet together, with arms straight at their sides.

"What are you doing in this program, anyway?" he asked curiously.

Janeway didn't answer.

"Because if you're in the mood to yell at people," Chakotay continued, "you could go down to Deck 15 and get Harren back on track in the plasma relay room. Carey has complained about him twice already today."

"I wasn't playing a drill instructor," she retorted, a little offended that he would even suggest that she might enjoy shouting at people.

Chakotay's brow creased, wrinkling his tattoo. "Don't tell me you were playing a cadet?"

She avoided his gaze and tried to think of a way to derail this topic of inquiry, but nothing came to mind.

"You were, weren't you?" he said.

She turned to face him, hands on hips. "I haven't stood at attention in eight years, do you realize that? And if I don't do it perfectly, Owen is just the kind of person to give me a hard time about it in front of- _Stop smiling!_ "

Chakotay tried his best to obey. "Have you also forgotten how to take orders?" he asked. "Better take a refresher on that, too. Would you like me to play your commanding officer?"

She glared at him. "Don't you have work to do? Those Jefferies tubes aren't going to inspect themselves."

"Aye aye, sir."

"And don't call me sir. You know I hate that."

"Aye aye, Kathryn."

" _Dismissed_. Unless you want to drop and give me twenty for that attitude."

"No, ma'am." Chakotay left with alacrity.

Janeway looked after him with a little smile on her lips, but slowly it faded. Chakotay may be joking around as if nothing was wrong, but she could tell from the subdued look in his eyes that he was just going through the motions. She had spent the first evening after their departure from Starbase 3 in his quarters, listening to him talk about his friends in the Maquis who had been lost: Meyer. Nelson. Sahreen. K'Tarra and Roberto. She had never seen him so desolate.

She had offered what comfort she could, but she knew from her own experience that there was nothing she could do or say to take away his pain. All she could do was let him know she was there for him.

In the two days since, Chakotay had been traveling around the ship, not only to supervise the crewmembers as they prepared for the inspection, but also to check up on each of the former Maquis and see how they were handling the news and if they needed any support. In a way Janeway was pleased to see it, since she thought talking to them might help Chakotay work through his own grief, but she worried, too, that he might be so focused on helping the others that he would not take care of himself. He had steadfastly refused to take any time off, even as he had relayed requests from other department heads to give a break to several of the others who were distraught by the loss of close family members.

Janeway glanced over the frozen holograms and decided she'd had enough of standing at attention.

"Computer, end program," she said.

She went up to the Bridge. The Doctor had just arrived there with Jake Sisko, and the reporter thanked her and the rest of the senior staff graciously for their time and took his leave.

"I'll see you at the press conference, Captain," he said, shaking Janeway's hand one last time. "Thank you again. You have a fine crew, and I wish you all the best of luck."

He flashed a friendly grin around and started to head for the turbolift that would take him down to his shuttle, but then he turned back for a moment.

"Oh, by the way, Doctor," Sisko said, "if you should ever make it to Deep Space 9 for a visit, stop by Quark's Bar and Holosuite and ask the proprietor to introduce you to a gentleman by the name of Vic Fontaine. Tell him Jake sent you. You may find it... enlightening."

"Thank you, I will," the Doctor said, looking intrigued.

"Just don't buy any Lobi crystals from the Ferengi," Kim murmured for the Doctor's ears only.

"As for the rest of you," Sisko added. "When you get to Earth, check out Sisko's Creole Kitchen in New Orleans. My grandfather makes the best gumbo you've ever tasted." He waved in farewell, and the turbolift door slid shut on him.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

When Voyager docked at Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards, floating high above the terraformed surface of Mars, there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. They were so close to Earth they could see it, though at this distance it appeared no larger than a star on the viewscreen. Still, that didn't stop several crewmembers from making excuses to come up to the Bridge to not-so-subtly gawk at it anyway, Janeway noted as she emerged from the Ready Room.

There was, however, one crewmember who was not giving the viewscreen even a passing glance: Tom Paris. He was standing over the helm, shoulders hunched and brow beaded with sweat as he intently pressed a tetraburnium grinder over and over one particular spot on the edge of the console.

"Tom, you can barely even see it," Harry Kim murmured, standing next to him and looking slightly puzzled.

"But I can _feel_ it," Paris replied in a slightly strangled tone. "I can't believe the renovation crew missed this. Someone needs to be reprimanded. Do you know who was assigned? Just look at this. Tritanium slag here, and here and here… this is going to take forever to get off!"

"It isn't worth sweating over, Tom. We just went through a battle. There's slag everywhere. I swear I still have some under my skin." Kim rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace.

"No, you don't understand," Paris said. "Everything has to be perfect. _Everything._ "

He looked so pale and serious, so unlike himself, that Janeway's heart was wrung for him, but before she could think of the right thing to say, her attention was diverted by Chakotay coming to her side.

"Captain, Admiral Paris is on his way to the docking port on Deck 8," he said quietly.

"Yes, I'm on my way down to greet him." She resisted the impulse to smooth her hair, but could not stop herself from straightening her combadge. Then she lowered her voice and said, "I trust that by the time I bring him up to the Bridge, you'll have everything…" She motioned vaguely toward the helm, and Chakotay immediately nodded in understanding.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

Just then Paris jammed the grinder down against the helm so hard that the mechanism squealed in protest, and then with a noise of impatience he abruptly turned it off and straightened up. Kim was staring at him, wide-eyed.

"Look at this!" Paris burst out, gesturing wildly at the offending spot. "It's never going to come off!"

"Hey, take it easy!" Kim said quickly, taking the grinder out of his hand.

"How could I have been so stupid?!" Paris went on, looking pained. "I meant to come in last night to check everything, but I fell asleep holding Miral, and she slept for _six hours_. I didn't have any idea she could sleep that long without a feeding. She never has before."

"Here, I have an idea," Kim said quickly. "Instead of grinding it down, how about I mix up a little liquid tritanium, and we gloss over the slag so it isn't so noticeable? It'll just take a minute, and it won't even leave an odor. Hang on, I'll be right back."

Kim rushed off, and Paris sagged against the console, wiping the sweat off his brow with his uniform's sleeve and studiously avoiding anyone's gaze. Janeway and Chakotay exchanged concerned looks.

"Good luck," Chakotay said quietly to her.

"You too," she murmured.

* * *

When Janeway reached Deck 8, she found the handful of crewmen she had selected were already lined up on either side of the docking port, standing at parade rest and failing to hide their excitement.

They had only a few minutes to wait, and then the indicator light above the port flashed on to show that the airlock had been opened from the other side.

"Attention," Janeway said smartly, and the crewmen snapped to. Then she nodded to Ensign MacAllister, who blew three long lilting notes on his bosun's whistle and then pressed the control to open the airlock.

Admiral Owen Paris, flanked by two aides, stepped through. Janeway barely had time to register his bald head, fringed with white, and impeccably neat uniform before she came to herself and remembered that she, too must stand at attention. She did so quickly, hoping with all her heart that she had done an adequate job of it. It had been a long time. Far too long.

"Permission to come aboard," Admiral Paris said crisply.

"Permission granted," she replied.

There was a moment of silence. The admiral's eyes ran over the crewmen, and then did a slow sweep of the room, and it was all Janeway could do not to look, too, to see if she could see what his critical eyes must be seeing. A crooked deck plate? Or perhaps the computer interfaces, once state-of-the-art, which surely must be outdated by Starfleet standards now?

Finally, his eyes came back to her.

"At ease," he said.

Easier said than done. Janeway did her best to make sure she _appeared_ at ease, however, and her crew followed suit.

Admiral Paris surveyed her for a long moment.

"Katie," he said, and shook his head slightly in wonderment. "This is an unexpected pleasure." He paused. "I didn't think I would ever see you again."

Janeway had prepared herself for many possibilities, but this was not one of them. Admiral Paris, permitting himself to be informal right off the bat, and in a public setting, no less? For a moment, she was speechless. Groping for a response, she ended up blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Well… I'm still here, sir."

The admiral's eyes widened with shock, and belatedly Janeway realized the import of what she had just said. It had been many years, more than 20, since she had last uttered those words to Admiral Paris - then Captain Paris - but she had never forgotten, and apparently neither had he.

It had been cold, bone-chillingly cold, as she huddled on the hard dirt floor of the storage shed the Cardassians had converted into a makeshift prison for her. Kathryn Janeway, on her first space assignment, getting her first taste of real danger. Their shuttle had been shot down by Cardassians. The pilot killed in the crash. The captain and herself injured, and taken captive before they could call the Al-Batani for help.

And now, she couldn't see him, but she could hear him. She could hear everything the Cardassians were doing to her captain with excruciating clarity. She knew their reputation. Cardassians were unparalleled in the art of obtaining information, and a Starfleet captain would know many things useful to the Empire. They hadn't bothered with her. A mere ensign, a junior science officer, good only for throwing in a corner where she would be out of the way.

And while she had listened to what the Cardassians were doing to Captain Paris, she had hunted frantically around her tiny prison, touching everything with her cold-numbed hands, groping desperately in the dark to find any weakness in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, any tool she could use to dig, any chance of getting out. But there was nothing. The frozen dirt was too hard to even scratch with her fingernails. She was helpless. Helpless to help her captain. So she sat there, listening to his distant screams for what felt like an eternity, until she thought she must start screaming herself.

But somehow, in those hours of terror unlike anything she had known before, there was a part of her that stood apart from the fear, a part of her that said losing control wouldn't help Captain Paris. Against the tide of her mental anguish, she had listened to that quiet, calm voice of reason that told her that she was not helpless, that just because she couldn't rescue him didn't mean he had to face this trial alone.

And so she had taken a deep breath, and shouted as loudly as she could:

"I'm here, sir! I'm still with you! I'm still with you, sir!"

Over and over again she had shouted it, so that he would be sure to hear her even amid his own screams, and find the strength to hold on even a little longer.

It worked. She knew it worked because before long two very angry Cardassian guards came back to her little prison to make her shut up. After they had left, she had sat in silence for a little while, just until the bleeding had slowed, and then she had started back up again.

 _"I'm here with you, Captain! I'm still here, sir!"_

Admiral Paris swallowed, and blinked at Janeway several times.

"I'm glad," he said softly. "Very glad."

There was a moment of silence. Then Admiral Paris straightened up, and spoke almost brusquely:

"Take me to Engineering, Captain Janeway. It's time for your inspection."

"Aye, sir," she said smartly.

She led him and his two aides down the corridors. The moment they turned the first corner, Janeway glanced at the three of them and, sure enough, could see the puzzled frowns beginning to deepen on their foreheads as they gazed at the bulkheads.

"This is one of the sections replaced by the Garenorians, sir, after the year of hell," she explained.

"I see," Admiral Paris said, giving the multi-hued bulkhead panels a long, searching look. "The color scheme certainly is… interesting."

As always, she felt she had to explain. "We think their eyes see a different spectrum than ours do."

"Apparently."

Then they had reached the turbolift, thank goodness.

"Deck 11, Main Engineering," Janeway said, and the turbolift began to move.

One of Admiral Paris' aides glanced over at her. "You recruited your Chief Engineer from the crew of the Val Jean, correct, Captain?"

"That's right."

"You were lucky you managed to find someone adequate to the task when Lieutenant Commander Jacoby was lost in the crossing," the woman said.

"Oh, much more than adequate," Janeway replied quickly. "Lieutenant Torres is indispensable to me."

"Torres?" Admiral Paris said abruptly. "Isn't it Lieutenant Paris now?"

Janeway hesitated a moment. "I believe, sir, that she and her husband decided it would be confusing to the crew to have two Lieutenant Parises on board."

The admiral grunted, and Janeway's heart fell a little. She should have anticipated that. Admiral Paris had always cherished the rules, and that included not only Starfleet regulations but also long-standing traditions. It hadn't even occurred to her that he would frown on _that_ particular decision. But she could see plainly that his hackles were up now, moments before he was going to meet his new daughter-in-law.

And B'Elanna, grieving for her Maquis comrades on top of dealing with the stress of caring for a newborn baby, was not exactly at her best at the moment. Yet she had insisted on being present in Engineering for the inspection. Janeway got a sick feeling of dread.

They walked into Engineering. Everything looked immaculate, both machinery and crew. Janeway tried to convince herself everything would be fine. Without a word or more than a glance at the engineering crew standing at attention, Torres among them, Admiral Paris began to go through his usual routine. He logged into the main Engineering console and began to look through all the readouts: the dilithium chamber mix, the plasma injection rate, the antimatter output. He worked for several minutes, while the crewmen waited in tense silence.

When Admiral Paris finished studying the readouts and straightened up, he didn't say anything, but began to slowly pace the room, looking over each crewman carefully. Janeway breathed a sigh of relief. His silence was a good sign. If he had found a flaw in the engines, he would have said.

"What's your name, crewman?" he asked one of the engineers.

"Ensign Mulcahay, sir."

Admiral Paris nodded, and walked a little further.

"Name, crewman?"

"Crewman Boylan, sir."

Admiral Paris moved on.

"Name?"

"Marla Gilmore, sir."

Admiral Paris paused. "Gilmore. I know that name. You were on the Equinox crew?"

The blonde woman flinched ever so slightly. "Yes, sir."

"You were the chief engineer."

"Yes, sir."

The admiral turned to face her fully. "You built the warp drive powered by the bodies of innocent lifeforms your crew slaughtered in order to get yourselves home a little quicker?"

Gilmore's eyes widened, but after a short pause her voice remained carefully neutral as she answered: "Yes, sir."

"Could it be that you are so simple-minded that you failed to understand that your actions constituted a clear and direct violation of the Prime Directive, our guiding principle of space exploration?"

Admiral Paris didn't raise his voice, but every word he uttered, enunciated with perfect precision, reached to the far corners of Engineering where the crewmembers were lined up. Faces were turning, hands were fidgeting ever so slightly. A tense silence spread. Beads of sweat were popping out on Gilmore's brow.

"No, sir," she said, her voice going slightly higher.

"You did understand."

"Yes, sir. I didn't want to do it, sir," Gilmore hastily added.

"Then why did you?"

"I was ordered to, sir."

"How can there be an order to violate the Prime Directive?"

Gilmore opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"Answer me, crewman! It was your duty to refuse that order; why did you obey? Well?"

"Sir, please…" Gilmore whispered, casting an agonized glance to the side at her crewmates, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes.

"It's a simple question, crewman. Answer!"

Her face contorted, and she burst out: "Because I'm a coward, sir!"

"Now we're getting somewhere. Murdering innocent life forms? Turning your conscience over to the whims of a corrupted superior? You're a disgrace to that uniform. You had better believe that if you were under my command, you would not have spent the last two years running around loose on the ship fixing plasma conduits, you would have been cooling your heels in solitary confinement and eating emergency rations three times a day!"

Gilmore was pressing her lips together so hard they were turning white, as she trembled from head to toe.

"What is it, crewman?" Admiral Paris said. "You think that's too harsh? You think you don't deserve that?"

Gilmore sucked in a shaky breath, and a tear spilled down each cheek. "No, sir."

"You do deserve that?"

"Much... worse," she whispered jerkily. "I know… what I did… what I am. Sir."

Admiral Paris shook his head vigorously. "The Prime Directive! What was in your head, crewman? There's no excuse, no justification whatsoever. You do realize, don't you, that you have committed a crime of the highest order, and when you face trial there is a very good chance that you'll be imprisoned for life? Or did you fail to think that through when you decided that killing aliens was a good-"

"Admiral."

Torres' voice rang out over-loud, and abruptly everyone's attention turned to her, including the admiral's. Janeway's heart sank even lower.

"The Klingons have a saying… Admiral." The fury in Torres' dark eyes was plain to see, and the last word sounded dangerously like an afterthought. "It's this: Don't keep stabbing the Kolar beast after it's already dead."

Admiral Paris looked questioningly at Janeway.

"Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres," she said, resigned. "Chief engineer."

Admiral Paris turned away from Gilmore and paced over to Torres. Behind him, Gilmore drew a visible sigh of relief, and was emboldened enough to quickly dry her face on her sleeves and sniffle before returning to attention.

The admiral came to a stop in front of Torres.

"I suppose you think Starfleet should turn a blind eye to violations of the Prime Directive, Lieutenant?" he asked, voice still as cool and collected as ever. "Is that how things were in the Maquis? Free from all rules, free from all responsibility. You think that's better?"

"Admiral," Janeway said.

"Not at all, Admiral," Torres said with a tight smile. "I merely question the necessity of reminding someone of their flaws when they're already painfully aware of them."

The admiral's face turned to stone. "Do you presume to tell me-"

"Admiral," Janeway said again. "May I speak with you in private for a moment, sir?"

"Not now, Captain. I'd like to pursue this further."

What were the chances that no one would get slapped with a charge of insubordination sometime in the next five minutes? Not good, but Janeway couldn't allow this conversation to continue. Because if Janeway knew anything about B'Elanna Torres, it was this: Unlike Marla Gilmore, she was not going respond to criticism with _tears_.

"Admiral-" Janeway started again.

"You are in error."

Admiral Paris froze in the act of turning back to face Torres, and looked around blankly. Out of the long row of crewman at attention, Seven of Nine was the only one looking straight at the admiral, her eyes defiant. Behind him, Janeway gave Seven a significant look and the smallest shake of her head, but she had the sinking feeling that it was useless. She closed her eyes briefly and permitted herself a silent wish that Seven had stayed at her usual post in Astrometrics, but after Miral's birth Janeway had told Seven to fill in in Engineering, and Seven had taken her assignment seriously and remained here for the inspection.

"I beg your pardon?" Admiral Paris said.

"I said, you are in error," Seven repeated, her tone forceful.

Admiral Paris raised his eyebrows, and then looked at Janeway and jerked his thumb toward Seven. "This your Borg drone?"

"Her name is Seven of Nine," Janeway quickly supplied.

Admiral Paris nodded, and walked over to Seven.

"Am I?" he asked her. "In error?"

"You are. The Maquis onboard this ship did not live 'free from responsibilities,' as you say. On the contrary, they were weighed down by them."

"Really? And how would you know that?"

"Because I was once connected to one of my shipmates through a Borg neural link," Seven said. "I can assure you, the Maquis were driven not by moral apathy, but by a sense of responsibility to prevent the Cardassians from interfering with the natural progression of the Federation colonists. Was this not in the spirit of your Prime Directive?"

Torres was staring at Seven with an expression of disbelief, and Janeway couldn't blame her. Since when did Seven stick her neck out for Torres?

Admiral Paris frowned at Seven for a long moment. "Be that as it may," he said at last, "if you intend to continue wearing that uniform, crewman, you're going to have to check that attitude at the door."

Seven didn't back down an inch. "I have no intention of continuing to wear this uniform."

Admiral Paris was taken aback. "You don't?"

"No. I do not. Nor do I intend to 'check my attitude' at this door, or any other door. I have no wish to subject myself to a bureaucratic, micromanaging, inflexible oligarchy."

Admiral Paris looked her over in silence. Seven stared straight back at him. Her cheeks were pink from the confrontation, blue eyes intense under her bright hair. Suddenly, Janeway had to blink to remind herself that Seven still had her Borg implants; for a second, in the heat of the moment, she had looked astonishingly… human.

Even beautiful.

Admiral Paris didn't appear to be insensible to the change that had come over Seven; he didn't break eye contact with her for a long moment until finally his lips curved ever so slightly up into a small, bemused smile.

"Saucy little thing," he said. He looked at Janeway and jerked his head toward Seven. "She learn that from you, Katie?"

Janeway's expression was resigned. "She came that way, sir."

Admiral Paris nodded thoughtfully. "As you were," he told Seven. Turning his back on the engineering crew, he nodded to Janeway curtly.

"I'd like to see the Bridge now, Captain," he said.

As they left Engineering, Janeway heaved a silent sigh of relief. Like father, like son. It seemed a pretty face was still Admiral Paris' Achilles heel, and it was a good thing, too.

* * *

Tom Paris' stomach was a veritable flock of butterflies as he sat at the helm, checking his readouts over and over again to ensure everything was as it should be, when he heard the hiss of the turbolift doors behind him and Harry Kim's voice ringing out: "Admiral on the Bridge!"

Heart in throat, Tom jumped to his feet along with everyone on the Bridge, but his nervousness quickly gave way to puzzlement when only Captain Janeway stepped out of the turbolift.

"Sorry, everyone," Kim said swiftly. "False alarm."

Commander Chakotay instantly asked the captain the question that was on Tom's lips: "How is the inspection coming?"

Captain Janeway didn't answer immediately. When she had stepped down to the command level, all she said was, "So far, so good." Her tone was careful. Too careful. Tom knew her well enough to know that it wasn't a good sign, and in an instant the butterflies were back.

"Mr. Paris, would you please walk with me?" she continued.

Tom shifted on his feet, feeling both surprised and less than pleased.

"Ma'am?" he said.

"Now, Mr. Paris."

He reluctantly left his post and followed her up the steps to the back of the Bridge. When they were in the privacy of the turbolift, she turned toward him and spoke quickly and quietly.

"I spoke with Admiral Paris just now, and he agreed to meet you in the VIP quarters on Deck 3. You'll have some time alone with him before he comes up here to complete the inspection."

Tom already had a closed-off look on his face. "Thanks, but no thanks, captain."

"This isn't a suggestion, Tom. I understand you only spoke with your mother and your sisters over the com back on Starbase 3."

"It was his choice not to be there for that," Tom said. He wasn't sure if he was angry or merely defensive about that.

"Yes, because he wasn't certain whether you would _want_ to speak to him," Janeway said patiently. "It took me quite a while to persuade him to meet you before the inspection, not because he wasn't anxious to see you, but because he was concerned it would show favoritism when the other crewmembers haven't seen _their_ families yet. I think I managed to convince him that an inspection would be a pretty poor way for him to reunite with his son, especially given the way he tends to conduct inspections. I trust you haven't forgotten that."

"How could I?" Tom said with a humorless laugh.

The turbolift doors opened, but Tom just stood there.

"He isn't going to eat you alive," Janeway said gently.

"That's debatable," he said.

"For what it's worth, I told him he would hear about it from me if he did."

Tom looked at her in some surprise. "Where were you all my life?" he said.

"I've been in your father's life for longer than I've been in yours, but not much longer," she said. She put her hand on his arm and they started walking down the corridor. "I don't know if you remember this, Tom, but New Zealand was not the first time we met."

"What?" She had his full attention now.

"Your parents had me over for dinner a couple of times," she said. "While I was a cadet. I'm not surprised you don't remember. You must have been, what? Six or seven years old?"

"Dad brought all his star students over to the house," Tom said slowly. "He always told us to pay attention to them so we could grow up to be just like that. I guess I didn't realize you were one of them."

"I went to your house expecting to meet a wunderkind," Janeway said. "He used to brag about you all the time, you know."

Tom snorted. "I find that hard to believe. My father isn't exactly generous with his praise."

"Oh, believe me, I know," she said. "Your father belongs to the school of thought that says praise makes a student too complacent. I remember I worked my guts out for him for six months on the Al-Batani, synthesizing research on massive compact halo objects, and I never got so much as a 'nice work, Ensign.' Yet he submitted it to the Daystrom Institute for publication. He did think very highly of you, Tom, he was just careful to never say so in front of you."

"If only he had been so circumspect when he was disappointed in me."

"He won't be disappointed in you now," Janeway said. "You've turned over a new leaf. Even your father will be able to recognize that."

"We'll see about that." Tom shook his head. "I for one am dying to know what he thought of my little adventure on the ocean planet. I have a feeling I'll be hearing all about _that_ in a matter of minutes."

Janeway's tone grew sharp. "What more could he possibly say or do than what I've already said and done to you? Thirty days solitary confinement? The loss of an entire step in rank? You've atoned for what happened and then some. I'm hopeful that even your father won't be able to accuse me of being too soft on you."

"Is _that_ why you were so...?" Tom let his voice trail off before he said anything ill-considered. He paused as a look of wonderment spread across his face. "You have funny ways of protecting me, Captain," he said at last.

"You're welcome."

They had reached the VIP quarters.

"How long will I have?" Tom said to her. He knew he was doing a lousy job of concealing his nervousness.

"As long as you need," she said. "Oh, and Tom?" she added quickly as he turned to go. He looked back at her questioningly.

"Just don't let on to your father that you dragged me down to your level with all that Queen Arachnia business," she said. "He still thinks I'm respectable. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

Tom smiled despite himself. "It'll be our little secret," he said.

"Good. And good luck."

When Captain Janeway had disappeared around the bend, Tom reached up to the controls, but slowly lowered his hand before he pressed the chime.

He was not looking forward to this conversation. What if his father hadn't changed? Or what if he _had_ changed… for the worse? What if the intervening years had made him more stern, more inflexible, more humorless?

Then Tom thought: How could it possibly be worse than what it was? At least this time I'm in a uniform instead of a prison jumpsuit.

Without thinking, his hand went up and fingered the pips on his collar. They belonged to him. And this time he had done it on his own. There was no niggling doubt in the back of his mind about whether he had them only because the name Paris looked good on an Academy application. No quiet resentment that the only reason he had chosen this path was because he had a family full of Starfleet officers to impress. No, these pips he had earned himself, out there alone in the Delta Quadrant, and this time he had done it because he had wanted them for himself, and had put in the work and sacrifice it took to get them.

That was when Tom realized that it didn't matter if his dad had changed. _He_ had changed. That alone would make things different. And to his amazement, he realized that now that this long-awaited moment had arrived, he didn't want to play the part of the aggrieved victim anymore. He didn't want to demand apologies for the years of restrictions and tyrannical control, or toss out sarcastic barbs about his father's shortcomings, or even flaunt his own accomplishments of the last eight years in the hopes of getting praise, faint or otherwise.

All he wanted was to have a normal conversation with his father about normal things.

Tom straightened up, took a deep breath, and pressed the chime.

There was a short pause, and then the door slid open, and there was his father. Looking just the same as always. Maybe a few more wrinkles. Maybe a little more grim, but probably that was just the impression left by Starfleet's new gray uniform, or at least Tom hoped so.

His father wasn't saying anything, or standing aside to let Tom come in. The silence was getting awkward, and Tom couldn't stop himself from breaking it.

"Hello, sir."

Admiral Paris blinked as though awakening from a deep sleep.

"Yes. Tom. I was beginning to think you weren't coming." He stepped back, and Tom came into the VIP quarters, skirting around the admiral carefully.

His father seemed to be waiting for him to speak first, but Tom couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. Desperately he cast his eyes around the room, trying to find a safe topic of conversation.

"Nice quarters," he said.

"I, uh…" Admiral Paris cleared his throat. "I imagine this room hasn't been used for years. Not many Starfleet admirals in the Delta Quadrant, are there?"

Tom shrugged. "We invited a few ambassadors to stay here," he said. "And Captain Janeway used to give out a night in the suite from time to time, as a reward for crewmembers who gave exemplary service."

Suddenly it occurred to Tom that the captain probably wasn't supposed to use the VIP suite in that way, but it was too late now, the cat was out of the bag. Inwardly cringing, Tom waited for the lecture, but all Admiral Paris did was frown slightly and ask, "Did you stay here?"

He answered cautiously. "A time or two."

"How was it?"

Tom shrugged again. "It was a nice change for us."

"Us? Oh, yes. Your wife. You've been married how long now?"

"A year and a half." He hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry you and Mom missed the wedding."

"Oh, well." Admiral Paris waved his hand vaguely. "You couldn't have put something like that off, not knowing when you would be home. Your mother-" He cleared his throat. "Your mother has been talking about having a reception back at home, so everyone can come and meet your wife. And the baby, of course."

"Yes, she mentioned that."

"Good. Good."

Silence. And more silence. Tom was filled with a sudden, irrational urge to be done with this conversation already, to flee back to his post on the Bridge, or better yet, to the holodeck so he could put on his Captain Proton uniform and point his ray gun at Satan's Robot and make "pew-pew" noises until he felt like himself again.

But that was the old Tom talking, and the new Tom had the sense to stay in the room and see this through.

"You didn't call home when you left Earth," Admiral Paris said suddenly. "I didn't know you'd been released from New Zealand until you were already at DS9."

"I didn't think you would want to see me," Tom said cautiously. "The last time we met didn't go so well."

Admiral Paris gazed out the window for a long time, although there was nothing to be seen that way but a field of distant stars. "No," he said at last. "It didn't, did it?" He sighed deeply.

Tom cleared his throat. "Sir, there were times... when I wondered if maybe you had asked Captain Janeway to request my help tracking down the Val Jean..."

"No," Admiral Paris said quickly. "No. I had no part in that. It wouldn't have been right, to ask a special favor just because you were my son. I didn't know Katie was going to do it until it was already done."

"Really?" Tom folded his arms. "You know, I've been going through some of the records of the investigation into Voyager's disappearance. It looks to me like you've spent a good part of the last eight years asking Starfleet for special favors on behalf of your son."

The admiral laughed humorlessly. "Is that an accusation?"

"Just an observation. I wouldn't have expected..." Tom hesitated a little. "I wouldn't have expected you to be so persistent. There was no reason to think Voyager would ever be found again."

"Your mother," the admiral said, and suddenly his voice sounded a little raw, "your mother has never stopped grieving over the way our last meeting went. You can't know what it was like... watching her mourn, and knowing that her inability to find closure was my doing. And if someone had told me that was the last time I would see my son..." He paused for a long moment. "Well. I might have done things a little differently."

Tom absorbed this with some measure of disbelief. Was that an apology? It almost sounded like an apology. It was an unexpected turn of events.

"Everything you said to me that day was true," Tom said quietly. "I _was_ a loser, and a drunk, and a criminal."

"But you didn't need me to tell you that." The admiral gazed at him steadily. "Did you?"

"Oh, believe me, I knew. No one better."

"You have no idea how many times I've replayed that conversation in my head. Trying to think what I could have said. What I should have said."

"And?" Tom said.

Admiral Paris was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "I don't know if I'll ever understand what went wrong between us, Tom. All I ever wanted was for you to be like me. But I should have told you that day that… even if you weren't, you were still... _are_ still, my son."

Tom swallowed hard. "I, uh…" He took a deep breath. "I would have liked to hear you say that."

His father looked at him steadily. "I _am_ saying it."

Tom nodded. "Thank you, sir." He could not manage to make it more than a whisper.

Just then the door chime sounded, making them both jump.

Admiral Paris was the first to recover, clearing his throat roughly and going to the door. He looked very confused when it slid open to reveal one excessively cheerful Talaxian at the door, holding a small bundle in his arms.

"Good morning, Admiral Paris!" Neelix chirped. "The captain thought you might like to meet your newest granddaughter. Oh, my name is Neelix, by the way. Uh…" He appeared to be contemplating trying to shake Admiral Paris' hand despite holding a newborn baby at the same time, but in the end decided to forgo it. "Well, anyway, I'm Captain Janeway's ambassador to the Delta Quadrant. Maybe you and I can talk about, ah, the state of diplomacy in the Alpha Quadrant, sir… maybe there's a need for more ambassadors right now? I already have a lot of experience and I'm very willing and eager to learn more, whatever it takes. Well, we can discuss that at a later date, of course," Neelix added hastily. "Whenever it's convenient to you, sir. Here, Tom, why don't you-"

Tom stepped forward to take the baby from Neelix's arms, but Admiral Paris beat him to it. Neelix laid the baby in the admiral's arms and lingered only long enough to give Tom a wink before disappearing down the corridor.

"Takes mostly after her mother, looks like," the admiral said, pulling down the blanket to get a good look at little Miral's face. "Oh, wait, no, look at that. She does have the Paris chin."

"And the ears, I think," Tom pointed out. "See?"

"Yes, I think you're right." The admiral shifted the baby in his arms slightly. "She's only a week old? She feels much heavier than she looks."

"Her bone density is higher than a full human's," Tom pointed out. "I keep telling B'Elanna that one day she'll be a killer Parrises Squares player."

"Yes, and she would make an excellent security officer," Admiral Paris said. Then, thinking better of it, he quickly added, "Or… whatever she chooses to be. Is she letting you get any sleep?"

"Not much."

Admiral Paris chuckled briefly. "You know, the first few weeks of your life are a bit of a blur to me. You wouldn't sleep more than 90 minutes at a time."

"Really?" Tom said. "I didn't know that."

Admiral Paris nodded. "I must have been walking around in a haze of exhaustion, oblivious to everything but you, for a solid month. It's a miracle your mother and I managed to remember to feed your sisters, as tired as we were."

Tom snorted. "Maybe you should have gone right back to work. Navigating the hazards of space would have been less stressful."

"No, no, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Admiral Paris said, smoothing down Miral's fine, dark hair with the palm of his hand. "There's nothing like these first few weeks. They go by quickly. Much too quickly."

They started talking about the unusual circumstances of Miral's birth, and the conversation flowed easily until finally Admiral Paris noticed the time and reluctantly said they'd better wrap it up.

Tom reached out for the baby, but his father pulled away before he could take her.

"I'll just take her back to Neelix," Tom said by way of explanation. "You still have the rest of the inspection to do, don't you?"

"Nonsense. We'll bring her."

"What, to the Bridge?" Tom asked in surprise.

Admiral Paris wrapped the blanket around Miral more snugly. "I can't think of a better place for a Paris to be."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Reviews are welcome!


	17. Chapter 17

**Starship stranded in Delta Quadrant returns with key to Borg defeat**

 _By Jake Sisko_

 _Federation News Service_

UTOPIA PLANETIA - The Borg Collective intended to send more than a hundred cubes to Federation space, according to stunning new intelligence shared by Federation officials today, a massive attack force that Starfleet acknowledged they would have been unable to counter before it reached Earth and its surrounding colonies.

Instead, the Federation faced only a pair of cubes in the Battle of Starbase 3 four days ago, amassing 354 casualties and the loss of five vessels, a fraction of the losses sustained in the Battle of Wolf 359 and the Battle for Sector 001.

That victory - as well as the elimination of 47 additional cubes in the Delta Quadrant and the destruction of a transwarp conduit intended to transport the rest of the Borg fleet to the Alpha Quadrant - was largely due to the intervention of the scrappy crew of a Federation starship believed to be lost eight years ago, Starfleet officials announced today.

The U.S.S. Voyager, an Intrepid-class starship with a crew of 152, was declared lost with all hands after it disappeared in the Badlands while pursuing a Maquis vessel, only a few weeks after its launch on stardate 48038.5.

After an absence of eight years, Voyager unexpectedly reappeared at Starbase 3 less than an hour after a pair of Borg cubes launched a surprise attack against the station and destroyed two of the Federation starships protecting it. Voyager joined four other Federation ships already engaged with the Borg and proved instrumental in the destruction of the cubes, while also sending a boarding party to help the crew of Starbase 3 regain control of the station from invading drones.

"I think it's safe to say that without Voyager's timely assistance, the Battle of Starbase 3 would have ended very differently," said Starfleet Admiral Owen Paris at a press conference held at Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards today.

According to Voyager's commanding officer, Captain Kathryn Janeway, her ship had been transported from the Badlands to the far side of the Delta Quadrant, a distance of approximately 75,000 lightyears, by a powerful alien entity known as the Caretaker.

Her crew - joined by the crews of the Maquis ship Val Jean and the U.S.S. Equinox, which went missing the same year - has spent the last eight years attempting to return to Federation space while managing to survive multiple encounters with the Borg Collective. Four days ago, they succeeded, using a Borg transwarp conduit to travel 30,000 lightyears in just 22 hours.

"I think it would be the understatement of the century to say that we are all deeply thrilled to be home again," said Janeway. "It's been a long eight years."

With the help of a group of cooperating alien civilizations from the Delta Quadrant known as the Coalition, Voyager developed an energy beam cannon, capable of inflicting far greater damage to a Borg cube than a typical Starfleet torpedo, and a new nanotechnology, dubbed "freebots," which can liberate drones from the Collective.

Working in partnership with Voyager, the Coalition was able to destroy much of the Borg invasion fleet as it was still assembling in the Delta Quadrant, and destroyed the transwarp conduit leading to Wolf 359 after two Borg cubes - followed by Voyager - slipped through.

More than 200 individuals, approximately half of whom were starbase personnel assimilated during the conflict, were liberated from the Collective during the course of the battle. The rest of the ex-drones represent species from dozens of Delta Quadrant planets and will be brought to Earth for their recovery. Federation officials hope these ex-drones - the Delta 100 - will eventually provide useful intelligence about Borg tactics and weapons...

 _ **Tap here to continue story.**_

For the rest of Jake Sisko's coverage of this breaking story, please see:

 **The captain who wouldn't quit: Kathryn Janeway's quest to bring her crew home**

 **Ex-drone taken in by Voyager crew among first humans assimilated**

 **Voyager helmsman helps chief engineer wife deliver their child during Borg battle**

 **Obsolete EMH, Voyager's only doctor, claims self-determination after spending years online**

 **Former Maquis captain leads boarding team to liberate Starbase 3**

 **Delta Quadrant native serving as Voyager's 'Renaissance man' ready to call Earth home**

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Short but sweet, I know, but the next few chapters will make up for it!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Afterward, it wasn't the pomp and glory that Kathryn Janeway remembered most.

It wasn't the honor guard of starships that accompanied them as they left Utopia Planetia, or the excitement of seeing Earth on their viewscreen for the first time, or the antimatter fireworks that exploded over the night skies of Russia, India and China as Voyager took a victory lap all the way around the globe.

It wasn't the thrill of seeing the Golden Gate Bridge and the gleaming towers of Starfleet Headquarters as they swooped down through the clouds, or the gentle bump of Voyager's landing struts on the soil of San Francisco, or the palpable anticipation of the crew as they lined up in the corridors preparing to disembark.

Nor yet was it the band playing the Federation anthem as they jogged out into the sunshine, or the colorful flags fluttering in the breeze, or the holocams hovering overhead like a cloud of insects to record the moment for the history books, or even Admiral Patterson's jovial face as he formally welcomed them back home.

No, what she remembered most of all was the moment when smiling Starfleet officers lowered the ropes, and permitted their families to rush across the grass to greet them at last.

To Janeway's right, she saw a gorgeous woman with very long black hair throwing herself tearfully in Chakotay's arms. That must be his sister, Sekaya. A little further down the line, Seven was looking with uncertainty at a gray-haired lady who was smiling sweetly and nodding as she spoke enthusiastically to Seven. Her Aunt Irene, Janeway assumed, who was Seven's closest living relative on Earth.

After that she didn't notice anyone else's family, because her own beautiful mother was standing before her, and without a word they fell into each other's arms, and Janeway succumbed at last to the rush of emotion.

"I missed you so much," Gretchen said. "So very, very much." She was holding Janeway as tight as she could. "So much..."

They held each other for a long, long time, but finally they pulled apart, and Gretchen looked her over eagerly. "I've been so worried about you," she said, smiling through her tears. "And I'm so proud of you. So very, very proud. You made it home. I can't believe you're here with us! It seems almost too good to be true."

"I can't tell you how good it is to be home," Janeway said.

Another voice spoke from nearby. "So do I get a turn now, or what?"

Janeway turned to see her sister Phoebe standing there behind her smiling.

"Phoebe!" Janeway said eagerly, giving her a hug too. It was a little awkward, because for some reason Phoebe was holding a baby in her arms.

"Look!" Phoebe shouted over the hubbub going on around them. "Here's your surprise!" She swooped forward and plopped the baby into Janeway's arms.

"What?" Taken off guard, it took Janeway a moment to get a firm grip on the baby. She stared at it in consternation. The baby was young enough to still be a bit floppy, and instinctively she put her hand protectively on the back of the baby's head to hold it steady. "Phoebe, what is this? Whose baby is this?" she asked in confusion. Surely it could not be Phoebe's grandchild, not yet. Her Connor was nearly grown, it was true, but still much too young to be starting a family.

"She's mine, of course!"

"What?"

"Yes!"

"You did not have another baby!"

"Oh, yes I did!"

"Phoebe!" Janeway looked at the baby in amazement. She was beautiful and, come to think of it, _did_ resemble Phoebe. She didn't seem to mind being held by a strange person. In fact she was busy staring in fascination at Janeway's combadge, and took a clumsy swipe at it with her chubby hands.

"I can't believe it!" Janeway said. She was shocked. Phoebe had been nearly done with parenting, and she had chosen to start completely over, at her age? "Why didn't you tell me over the com?"

"We thought it would be a good surprise!" Gretchen put in, smiling broadly.

"Well, I'm surprised all right," Janeway said. "What's her name?"

Phoebe said something, but Janeway didn't catch it over all the noise going on around them.

"What?"

"Kathryn!"

" _What?_ "

Phoebe whooped like a child. "I named her Kathryn!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Janeway blinked. "What for?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "After you, of course. Now you've ruined everything by turning up alive, and we'll have to have two Kathryns in the same family!"

"She's Kathryn Llewelyn, not Kathryn Janeway," Gretchen interjected. "And maybe we can call her Katie, or Kate, or Kathy..."

She trailed off as she was nudged aside by a woman who was carefully maneuvering herself through the crowd to reach Janeway. She was a petite Asian woman with chin-length hair, and without a word she reached out toward Janeway and folded her into her arms, sobbing.

"Thank you!" she cried. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Behind her, Janeway saw Harry Kim, cringing and mouthing the word "Sorry" at her.

Janeway smiled and patted the woman's shoulder comfortingly with one hand as she tried to keep baby Kathryn steady in her other arm. It had been a long time since she had seen Mary Kim, but although her hair was now more gray than black, Janeway recognized her from the day she had called to ask if it was too late to send Harry's clarinet to Deep Space Nine.

After a long hug, Janeway started to pull away, but Mary Kim just grabbed her tighter and sobbed, "Thank you! Thank you!" again. Harry had the decency to look even more embarrassed, but he was soon distracted by his father, who could not seem to stop anxiously smoothing out invisible wrinkles in Harry's uniform with trembling hands.

"It's fine, Dad," Harry said. "It's fine." He put his arm around his father's shoulder and gave him another squeeze. "Everything's fine now."

* * *

Chakotay had been dreading an awkward wait, imagining himself craning his neck to see over the crowds of happy families reuniting, trying to find his own. But somehow, Sekaya must have placed herself at the front of the crowd, because here she was, coming toward him with tears streaming down her face, and he ended up being the first of the senior officers to be able to hold his loved one in his arms.

Sekaya clung him as if he were a life preserver, sobbing without restraint, and it was impossible for him to maintain control any longer. He buried his face in the river of black hair cascading past Sekaya's cheek, and felt tears spring to his eyes. There were so many times that he thought this day would never come. He never should have doubted.

It didn't seem a moment for words. Chakotay closed his eyes and just held Sekaya, feeling her warmth against his chest, while all around them a sea of people surged and a storm of emotion raged.

When he opened his eyes again, Chakotay could see over Sekaya's shoulder that Tom Paris was currently being squeezed between two women in Starfleet uniforms, one in blue and one in gold - his sisters, presumably - while his mother stood nearby, in raptures over baby Miral. B'Elanna was standing a little apart with her arms crossed over her chest as she watched, looking like she didn't quite belong. An uneasy feeling swept over Chakotay. No one had been able to track down either of B'Elanna's parents. She had only Tom's family here to greet her.

Finally, Sekaya pulled away from Chakotay, and hastily dabbed at her eyes.

"Can we get out of here now?" she asked, trying hard to compose herself.

"I don't think so," Chakotay said, a little surprised at her eagerness to be gone. "There's a parade after this, and the whole crew is supposed to attend a reception here tonight. And besides, wouldn't you like to meet some of them before you go?"

"Not really," Sekaya said. Suddenly, there was a hard look in her eyes, one that Chakotay had seen before. He had seen it the day she and the other refugees had landed on Earth only a few weeks after the Cardassians had finally chased them off Dorvan 5 for good. Sekaya had stepped off the ship with her husband, Atl, each of them clinging to one of Ikal's hands as though he were the most precious possession in the galaxy, which he was, because their other son had just been killed in the same desperate struggle that had taken Kolopak's life.

As they had walked down the disembarking ramp, some well-meaning Starfleet officer had said to the refugees, as though to reassure them: "You're safe now." And Sekaya had turned to give him such a look as to rock him back on his heels.

" _Now_ ," she had spat, and there had been more fury in that single word than a lesser person could have put into an entire tirade.

Now Sekaya's gaze was raking over the clusters of Starfleet officers laughing and chatting with their families, and there was no matching smile on her lips.

"I made quite a few friends over the years," Chakotay said carefully. "There are a lot of great people on the crew. I think you would like them."

"I already met everyone on your crew," Sekaya said, with the slightest hint of an emphasis on _your_. "Is that B'Elanna Torres? She looks different. It's strange how much can change in just a few years. I'd like to talk to her."

They began trying to make their way over to B'Elanna, but it was difficult to move through the crowd. They were only halfway there when suddenly Chakotay heard Kathryn's voice, ringing loud and clear over the hubbub, crying out: "And Tuvok! Look at you! You're practically smiling!"

Instinctively Chakotay stopped and turned to see. He easily picked out the tall form of Tuvok just a short distance from him, but the Vulcan was not exactly smiling... although Chakotay would allow that his face had an unusually _satisfied_ look to it as he stood there with T'Pel and his young daughter standing calmly by his side and his three tall sons behind him.

The odd thing was that Kathryn wasn't even looking at Tuvok, although Chakotay was sure it was her voice he had heard; instead she was facing a white-haired woman he guessed was her mother, their heads almost touching as they admired a baby Kathryn was holding in her arms. The only other person standing near Tuvok was a woman with very thick, very tightly curled blond hair, who was practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured at the young Vulcan boy one of Tuvok's sons was holding.

"Isn't he precious?" she enthused. "I took pictures of him playing with his sehlat when we visited Vulcan last year. Cutest thing you ever saw. I'll send you copies, Tuvok."

There was no doubt about it. It was Kathryn's voice, that distinctive husky purr that he had believed was totally unique in the universe... and it was coming from the lips of that curly-headed blond.

Chakotay wasn't the only one who had noticed, either. Harry Kim and Neelix were both staring at the woman, mouths slightly agape.

"That is really uncanny," Kim murmured under his breath.

Now the woman was casting her eyes around the crowd, and her gaze fell on Neelix, standing alone among the groups of families.

"Hi, I'm Phoebe Llewelyn," she said, seizing Neelix's hand and shaking it. "Your captain's sister. I have never seen your species before! Who and what are you?"

"Uh, uh, Neelix," he said, trying to pull his wits around him. "Talaxian."

"Which one of those is your name, and which is your species?" she demanded playfully.

"Neelix is my name, Talaxian is what I am," Neelix said, glancing uncertainly at Chakotay.

"Oh, the chef, right? I've heard all kinds of rumors about your leola root stew. Will you make it for me sometime?"

"I- Well, yes, I suppose I could..."

"Wonderful. I'll hold you to that." She put one hand on her hip and tilted her head at Neelix, eyes sparkling, and Chakotay actually had to rub his eyes to believe what he was seeing. Stars above, she even had Kathryn's mannerisms.

What she didn't have was Kathryn's looks. There was barely any resemblance at all. Phoebe was noticeably taller, and besides the difference in hair color, her features were larger, almost Roman in shape. More like the photos of Edward Janeway that Chakotay had seen in Kathryn's quarters.

And she was restless, energetic, like Kathryn when she'd had too much coffee. Already she was moving on to Harry Kim.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Harry Kim."

"What do you do on the the ship, Harry Kim?"

"I'm at Ops."

Phoebe's brow creased, so he added helpfully, "Ship's operations."

She still looked confused. "What is that, some kind of engineer?"

Kim hesitated. "Sort of, but not exactly..."

"But it has something to do with machines."

"Well, yes..."

"Say no more." Phoebe waved her hand back and forth. "That's good enough for me. My sister got all the brains in the family. I don't do science. By the way, you are an extremely dashing young man," she added. Her voice went a tone deeper as she said it, exactly the way Kathryn's did when she was teasing.

Kim's eyes widened, and he glanced over at his parents involuntarily and laughed nervously.

By now their conversation, which Phoebe was conducting at a loud volume, was starting to attract attention from everyone nearby. Sekaya was looking at her with a mild expression of disgust, and Kathryn herself was watching now from behind Phoebe, looking distinctly annoyed. But Paris, with a sly grin directed at Kim, inserted himself neatly into the conversation.

"Hi, I'm Tom Paris," he said, holding his hand out for Phoebe to shake. "I'm the pilot."

"Oh, I know all about you. Probably more than I should. Your dad and I became partners in crime while you were gone, isn't that right, Owen?" Phoebe said. Admiral Paris nodded seriously. "Hey, the uniform looks good on you." She patted Tom's chest. "Much better than a prison jumpsuit, am I right? Are you really married?"

"Absolutely," Paris said.

"I can hear hearts breaking all over the world," Phoebe said. "Where is your beautiful bride?"

Paris put his arm around Torres' shoulders. "Right here. B'Elanna Torres, chief engineer."

"Lucky lady," Phoebe said. "Congratulations on the baby! With any luck, you'll slim up faster than I did." She gestured at her midsection. "Just look at this, and my baby almost four months old! Terrible. But you're a lot younger than I am, and you'll snap right back. And where is the Borg? I really wanted to meet her."

Neelix waded into the crowd and managed to produce Seven of Nine within moments, the Doctor trailing behind her. Phoebe introduced herself, and though Seven did a double-take upon hearing her voice, she managed to handle the social introduction in a textbook manner. The Doctor smiled proudly behind her.

"What is this?" Phoebe then asked curiously, almost touching the Borg implant above Seven's eye.

"It is an ocular implant," Seven said matter-of-factly.

"You mean your eye is false?"

"Yes."

"It looks completely real." Phoebe leaned in and stared at it some more. "How deep does it go, the implant?"

"Including the attached occipital implant? Approximately one-third of my skull is artificial," Seven said coolly, while Kathryn writhed in silent discomfort in the background.

Phoebe stepped back and looked at Seven thoughtfully. "Wow. Does it hurt?"

Seven lifted an eyebrow. "On occasion."

Chakotay had never known that. It occurred to him that probably no one had ever thought, or dared, to ask her. Except perhaps the Doctor. And now Phoebe was scrutinizing _him_ and his mobile emitter.

"Uh-oh. Looks like something escaped the holodeck," she teased. "You know, one of my boys was treated by an EMH like you at his school once, after Starfleet created the Mark II and repurposed the Mark I for public use. He did a good job, but his bedside manner... well, it left something to be desired."

"A lack in my programming that I have tried to address," the Doctor said.

"What's your name?"

"I don't really have one," the Doctor said, somewhat sheepishly. "Everyone just calls me the Doctor."

Phoebe stared in amazement. "Don't have a name? But Kathryn said you were sentient."

"Sapient," Kathryn interrupted.

Phoebe paused. "What?"

"I said he was sapient," Kathryn repeated. "It isn't the same as sentient."

Phoebe shrugged. "Whatever." She turned back to the Doctor. "You have to have a name. All sentients do."

"I have tried out several," the Doctor said somewhat defensively. "It's difficult to choose a name. There are so many choices. I never managed to settle on one."

"Hmmm." Phoebe looked thoughtful. "You know, none of _us_ had to choose a name for ourselves. Our parents did the choosing. Maybe that's your problem."

"Unfortunately, I don't have parents."

"You must have a creator."

"I do. Lewis Zimmerman."

"Then your surname should be Zimmerman, too," Phoebe said. "And you should ask him to choose a first name for you. Like a father would."

The Doctor assumed an aggrieved expression. "He couldn't even be bothered to show up and meet me today, much less choose a name for me."

Phoebe didn't answer. She had already turned her laser focus onto Chakotay, and he braced himself for the inevitable questions about his tattoo. Of course it would be the first thing someone like her would ask.

Suddenly Kathryn was at Phoebe's elbow, the baby still in her arms, and she inserted herself aggressively into the conversation. "Phoebe, this is my First Officer, Commander Chakotay."

He smiled in a friendly way as he shook her hand, and Phoebe took one look at him and then dropped his hand, looking over at Kathryn, aghast.

" _Another_ one?" she demanded. "Sis, how do you ever get any work done with all these handsome men on the Bridge?"

"It's my burden in life," Kathryn said, and though her tone was wry, she had a definite twinkle in her eye as her eyes briefly met Chakotay's.

"I bet! Just look at those dimples!" Phoebe reached up and patted Chakotay's cheek. Paris and Kim were laughing. Kathryn's smile faded somewhat.

Phoebe was chattering on. "Is Chakotay... Chakotay? Am I saying that right?"

"You got it."

"Chakotay. Is that your first name, or your last?"

"It's my only name."

"Uh-huh. And what about that tattoo? I bet there's a really interesting story behind-"

"You know what, Phoebe?" Kathryn said, tugging on Phoebe's arm as best as she could while still cradling the baby in one arm. "I think I see the Wildmans over there. You should come and meet them."

"No, no, wait a minute," Phoebe objected, resisting. "I'm dying to know..." She glanced around at the senior staff all around her. "Just look at all of you, Maquis and Starfleet, everybody getting along, one big happy family, snow in July, dogs and cats living together, I mean, what's your secret? Why aren't you strangling each other?"

"Oh, there's no secret," Paris said airily. "We all detest each other. Really, we do."

"I'm not really getting that vibe," Phoebe said, shaking her head so that her blond curls bounced. "And you're one to talk, Tom, you married one of the bad guys!"

"Yes, well, I blame that on your sister," Paris said, putting his arm around B'Elanna and grinning at Kathryn. "She's the one who brought them on board in the first place. I wanted to leave them behind at the nearest mining asteroid."

"He isn't joking," Chakotay said.

"Oh, I know who's to blame for it, and it isn't Kathryn," Phoebe said breezily, glancing over at her sister. "It was Mark. He was a bad influence on you, wasn't he, sis? Filling your head with all kinds of Maquis sympathies."

Kathryn's mother spoke up for the first time. "Phoebe, he was playing devil's advocate that day. You know how he loves to do that."

"I really don't think he was, Mom."

This conversation was causing all kinds of sensations. Torres was glaring at Phoebe, probably smarting over being referred to as a "bad guy," although Phoebe had clearly meant it as a jest. Paris and Kim both looked amused. Seven looked confused. Had anyone ever explained to her about Mark? Chakotay couldn't remember if the picture in the Ready Room had disappeared before or after Seven had joined the crew.

As for Chakotay himself, the very mention of the name was conjuring up a discomfort he couldn't ignore. Long ago, Kathryn had spoken of Mark from time to time without a hint of self-consciousness, but the more time had passed, the less she had spoken of him, until Chakotay could not remember her voluntarily bringing up the subject with him for several years at least. Was that because she wasn't thinking of Mark as often as she used to? Or because she was too uncomfortable to talk about him with Chakotay once their own relationship had morphed into something resembling romance?

It had never occurred to Chakotay to wonder what Mark's thoughts on the Maquis were. Somehow it had never occurred to him that Mark's opinions on anything would have any effect on Kathryn's opinions, but now that suddenly seemed obvious. They had known each other for many years, even before they had dated. Of course he would have changed her. She must have changed him, too.

And how many times had he wondered exactly why Kathryn had been so willing to take a bunch of Maquis on board and give them a fair chance to be part of her crew? He had learned enough about Kathryn over the years to get some approximation of her reasons, but he had never come right out and asked her directly. It seemed Mark had had something to do with it. Suddenly Chakotay felt that he had learned as much about Kathryn Janeway in the last five minutes as he had in eight years.

And Kathryn herself was looking at Phoebe with flushed cheeks, looking part angry, part embarrassed. Phoebe was oblivious to it.

"Do you think you'll end up imprisoned?" she asked curiously, her eyes going from Chakotay to Torres and back again.

"Not if the Federation is as enlightened as I've always been told," Neelix said stoutly, when it seemed no one else was going to answer.

"Well, if they do, I hope you all tell those admirals exactly what they can go do with themselves," Phoebe said. "I've said it to… how many now, Owen?"

"Counting myself?" Admiral Paris said coolly. "Six."

Phoebe shrugged. "I'm a real popular person in San Francisco these days, let me tell you. Sorry, sis. I probably wrecked your career while you were gone, but those donkeys in uniform kept giving up on you, and I lost my temper."

She plucked the baby from Kathryn's arms and cuddled her up against her chest.

"Oh look, there are the Delaneys," she said to her mother. "Let's go talk to them."

She left as suddenly as she had arrived, blond curls bouncing, and Gretchen and Kathryn exchanged long-suffering looks and then followed her. Kathryn glanced back as she left and mouthed the word "Sorry" at everyone before disappearing into the crowd.

"Well, that was entertaining," the Doctor said when they were gone.

"I never would have guessed we got the _tame_ Janeway," Paris said with a grin.

"She is direct," Seven said.

"And extremely honest," Tuvok added.

"I can't wait until she tries my leola root stew!" Neelix enthused. Tuvok's eyebrow went up.

"She's a menace," Torres said.

"I like her," Kim said unexpectedly.

"So do I," Paris said.

"Me too," Chakotay said.

"You three would," Torres muttered.

* * *

They spent several hours on the grass visiting with their own families and getting to know everyone else's, and then everyone was ushered to a nearby pavilion and a lunch was served.

After that, they were whisked away to sit down on either side of shady Sri Lanka Boulevard and watch a parade in their honor, and after the last float went by the crew climbed aboard a fleet of open hovercars to join the parade for the benefit of the rest of the civilian spectators.

The Doctor was eating up the attention, waving one hand in time with the music and nodding cheerily at every single person he saw waving at him. Kim was annoyingly enthusiastic as well. Seven looked bored with the whole ordeal.

"I know they're glad we blew up the Borg," Torres murmured to Chakotay as the ticker tape fluttered down on their open car, "and I figured we would get some kind of nice welcome-home, but this is getting a little excessive."

"I get the feeling they're desperate for a scrap of good news," Chakotay murmured back. "I think the Dominion War must have really hurt morale. They're happy to have something, anything, to celebrate."

After the parade they said goodbye to their families for the day; the evening was slated to be spent with Starfleet brass. They were taken to a reception center and everyone changed into the new dress uniform, consisting of high-waisted black pants with gold stripes down the legs, and a smart white jacket lined with gold stripes and trimmed at collar and cuffs with division colors. The Doctor changed his uniform with a press of a button on his mobile emitter, while the rest of them struggled to adjust to the unfamiliar and tight-fitting ensemble.

"I feel like a waiter," Paris complained as they were seated at a table. He tugged at the bottom hem of his short jacket. "I want the tunic design back."

"You look good, though," Torres said. "This maternity version is awful. They must not think pregnant and post-partum officers go to formal events." She looked lost without a baby in her arms; Julia Paris had taken little Miral to some other room in the reception hall, to keep her close for when she needed her next feeding.

Neelix was wearing some long-tailed creation of his own, even more garish and clashy than his usual outfits. He stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of white.

"I can't wait to sample fine Earth cuisine!" he said, rubbing his hands. "Something smells delicious, anyway."

Several officers from other ships joined their table, and they began to make small talk. They were friendly enough, and didn't say a word about the Maquis, although they must have known who they were talking to, based on the provisional rank pins he and Torres were wearing. Chakotay tried to keep his attention on the conversation, but he couldn't stop glancing up at the head table, where Kathryn was sitting surrounded by admirals, all of whom were lavishing her with attention.

She had always joked about being on a first-name basis with a bunch of admirals and Chakotay had never really taken her seriously, but it was starting to look like she hadn't been exaggerating. He wondered how many of them knew her personally, and how many liked her on the strength of her father's reputation, and how many were simply intrigued by her dramatic return home. She looked nice in the all-white captain's variant of the jacket, and it was good to see her smiling so much. She was clearly in her element, and he felt a stab of guilt that this was something she had been denied for so long. The old joke about the loneliness of command had ceased to be funny to him once he had started to understand what was happening to Kathryn in the Delta Quadrant, with no equals to fraternize with, and no situations in which she could ever really let down her hair and fully be herself.

He had tried so hard to give her everything she needed. But there were some things it hadn't been in his power to give. It was bittersweet, now, seeing her get them at last.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The dressing room was a crush of women: some standing in line for the changing stalls, some lined up at the mirrors applying makeup, some sitting down while their hair was pulled this way and that or piled up in curls for the evening.

Voyager's crew had been given a choice to keep on their dress uniforms for the reception that night, and most of the men had done so, but many of the women had opted for formal gowns. Janeway had managed to talk Seven into the latter without much difficulty, knowing how ambivalent Seven was about Starfleet-uniform-wearing, but she was starting to wonder if that had been such a good idea after all.

It had started out badly, with Seven getting her hair done in a complicated updo and becoming cross because it took so long and was "impractical and inefficient," as she kept telling poor Samantha Wildman, who was doing a beautiful job of it. Her patience was further taxed by having to sit still to have her nails and makeup done. Janeway scarcely noticed what Susan Nicoletti was doing to her own hair and face, busy as she was trying to keep Seven cooperative. Naomi sat on a stool nearby, already in a fluffy pink dress and a matching hairbow, watching the proceedings with wide eyes.

Fortunately Seven didn't complain about the corset. It wasn't much different, after all, from the exoplating she had once worn as a drone, or even the bodysuits she had needed to wear for a time until her skin had regained the ability to regenerate normally. Janeway had made certain that Seven's heels were no higher than the Starfleet boots she was already used to wearing, so that was all right, and then Samantha helped her get into the dress and zip it up. Then she turned Seven around and let her look in the mirror.

The effect was stunning. The red ball gown had one long sleeve, effectively hiding the Borg node on her right bicep, and left the other arm bare. A white glove on that hand hid her assimilation tubules. The skirt flowed down in smooth lines and just cleared her toes. Seven looked beautiful, and Samantha and Janeway and Naomi were quick to tell her that.

"This mode of dress is barbaric," Seven said, her voice deepening with scorn, yet she looked at the mirror for a little longer and hesitantly tried on a few fake smiles.

"Think of it as battle attire, Seven," Janeway said helpfully, as she was being pushed and prodded into her own dress, a cobalt blue one with gems sparkling at the hem. "We're preparing for war."

"Our enemy?" Seven asked.

"Any Starfleet bigwigs out there who might not think much of Maquis, or self-determining holograms, or ex-Borg drones," Janeway said. "Thank you, Susan. I think that should do it."

"Our weapons?"

"Charm," Janeway said, waving a hand gracefully in the air. "We'll use it to persuade them to think otherwise."

Seven frowned at the mirror as Samantha draped a necklace around her neck. "I would prefer to return to my Cargo Bay and regenerate."

"Don't be a party pooper, Seven." Janeway picked up her skirts and moved over to join Seven at the mirror, while Samantha excused herself to get her own dress on, taking Naomi with her.

"Is that an order?" Seven asked with uplifted eyebrow.

"I'd rather not make it one."

Janeway put on her necklace, the sapphire one the Garenorians had given her at the end of the year of hell, and for a moment she fingered the chain, filled with the bittersweet memory. She glanced at the mirror. Susan had done her hair in a wavy chignon at the base of her neck, with a few loose ringlets framing her face. Everything seemed to be in order, so she turned away and beckoned to Seven.

"Let's go," she said.

The two of them left the dressing room and let the sound of the distant orchestra lead them toward the ballroom. When they reached the foot of the stairs, they could see the Doctor, Kim, Chakotay and someone else they didn't recognize, a man in engineering gold, standing at the top and talking to each other.

Janeway picked up her skirts and started slowly up the stairs. Seven stuck by her side, but only a few steps up, Janeway heard a small thump, and turned to see Seven, fallen down on one knee on the stairs, her skirts trapped hopelessly under her shoes.

Alarmed, Janeway went back down several steps and knelt down in a blue heap of fabric. "Don't move," she said quietly to Seven, and she worked quickly to untangle the red material from the high heels. Then she straightened and gave Seven a hand to help her get back to her feet unsteadily.

"This did not happen with my other dresses on Voyager," Seven said stiffly, cheeks flushed pink.

"I'm sorry, Seven, that was my fault," Janeway said. "I should have told you. In a long dress like this you have to hold the skirt up when you go up stairs. No, no, not that high!" She quickly pushed Seven's hands down. "About ankle height. Just enough so you don't trip."

"It is barbaric," Seven muttered, but she tried to recover her grace as they cautiously made their way up the stairs again.

She could see now that the men had seen the whole episode. There was the Doctor and Chakotay, looking concerned, while Kim was trying to hide a smile.

No need to wonder what the officer in gold stripes thought of Seven, however. The moment they reached the top of the stairs, he asked Seven to dance, and after an uncertain look at the Doctor, Seven accepted and was led onto the dance floor.

Janeway looked at the others and heaved a big sigh.

"Remind me to never again involve myself in putting a Borg drone into formal wear," she said with a wry smile. "It was touch and go for a while there."

It was like Chakotay didn't even hear her. He gave her a long appraising look and then said, "You look lovely."

"Hey Doc, I think you missed a crucial social lesson for Seven," Kim said, clapping him on the shoulder.

The Doctor glared at him. "As if _I_ know how to walk in an evening dress!" he snapped. "I'm a doctor, not a debutante!"

Janeway looked around with the ballroom with appreciative eyes. The soaring ceiling was heavily ornamented, complete with chandeliers lighting up the dance floor, where a full orchestra was playing Tchaikovsky on a stage as couples whirled around the floor. Surrounding the dance floor were many round tables elegantly decorated, with waiters threading their way through the crowd holding trays filled with glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

A man in a variation of the dress uniform Janeway had not seen before hurried up to them. "Harry Kim?" he asked. "Lieutenant Commander Traysom, Starfleet Orchestra. We spoke on the com?"

"Yes, I remember," Kim said, shaking his hand.

Traysom gestured toward the stage. "We've been practicing your symphony the last few days and we're ready now, if you'd still like to conduct."

"Yes, of course, but I'll need to have a few words with the musicians first," Kim said quickly, and he excused himself and went off with the man. The Doctor followed them, clearly eager to have a front-row seat for the performance.

"This should be interesting," Chakotay said. "Have you heard it yet?"

Janeway shook her head. "I think Harry's tried hard to keep it a deep, dark secret."

A small group of officers approached them, and suddenly Janeway found herself the center of attention amid a chorus of smiling people congratulating her on their return home. As she struggled to keep all the names and faces straight, Janeway noticed Torres slipping in through the crowd to stand next to Chakotay.

A woman with a curly blonde updo extended her hand toward Janeway. "Captain Madison Shelby, U.S.S. Chongzhi. I've been looking forward to meeting you, Captain Janeway. You've made quite the stir in the Federation over the last few days."

"Entirely unintentionally, I assure you," Janeway said.

Shelby smiled. "Don't be modest, Captain. You and your crew accomplished a remarkable feat, defeating the Borg at Starbase 3. I'm eager to learn more about the energy beam weapon you developed. Back when I was overseeing research and development into addressing the Borg threat, we looked into various tricobalt weapons, but there were certain difficulties we were never able to overcome."

"I'd be happy to answer any questions you have. Captain Shelby, this is my Chief Engineer, B'Elanna Torres, and my First Officer, Chakotay."

"Ah, the Maquis captain," Shelby said. Maybe she hadn't meant to say it in a dismissive way, but something about her tone put Janeway's hackles up. And she hadn't even glanced at B'Elanna, much less shaken her hand.

"My First Officer," Janeway repeated firmly.

"Of course," Shelby said, shaking Chakotay's hand and almost instantly dropping it and turning back to Janeway. "Captain Retief's report indicated that you used a warp microburst in your final assault on the second cube. I'd love to speak with Lieutenant Carey about that. It's a maneuver that may be useful in future engagements with the Borg."

"Actually, it was Lieutenant Torres who came up with the idea of using a warp microburst," Janeway said, nodding at B'Elanna.

Shelby glanced briefly at Torres and then back to Janeway. "Your report indicated that a Lieutenant Joe Carey was on duty when the maneuver was performed. That's who I was hoping to speak with."

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere, but it was Lieutenant Torres who set up the engines for the microburst," Janeway said. "She's also performed the maneuver successfully on several previous occasions. This was Carey's first-"

"Of course it was, because the microburst isn't part of the typical Starfleet repertoire," Shelby interrupted. She looked at B'Elanna coolly. "You used it during your time with the Maquis?"

B'Elanna stirred. "Well, yes..."

"Here in Starfleet, we have much more stringent safety requirements than the kind of tricks the Maquis used to pull," Shelby said.

"The microburst _can_ be performed safely," Torres said, not bothering to hide her irritation. "As I think we just demonstrated."

"How do you align the crystals so that the dilithium chamber pressure doesn't become unstable?" a man in engineering gold asked her curiously.

Torres began to explain the procedure, while the engineer listened in rapt attention, along with several of the other officers who had gathered around them. Shelby was gradually nudged out of the circle. Janeway ended up talking to a tactical officer about their use of the energy beam cannon.

"I saw the footage from the station," the woman was saying. "Your tactical officer is a terrific shot."

"Actually, my tactical officer was onboard the station engaging the Borg there during the battle," Janeway said. "It was Lieutenant Ayala, Tuvok's right-hand man, who did the shooting."

"Oh?"

"He's an outstanding officer," Janeway said. "Very steady. I often request that he be assigned to my own security detail for away missions."

One person after another asked questions about the battle and their journey through the Delta Quadrant, and before long Janeway could feel her throat starting to get dry from so much talking. Almost on cue, Chakotay appeared at her elbow, holding two glasses of champagne.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he murmured in her ear as he handed her a glass.

"Making small talk?" she asked innocently, taking a sip.

"You're talking up my crew. You're working. This is your welcome-home party, Kathryn. Relax and enjoy yourself. There will be time enough for that later."

"I enjoy talking up _our_ crew," she said defensively.

The conversation was interrupted by a voice coming over the speakers in the room. The chatter in the ballroom began to quiet down and faces turned toward the stage.

It was Traysom, who introduced Harry Kim and led the audience in a round of applause as Kim took the stage. He stepped toward the microphone and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to present to you my labor of love over the past eight years, a song I composed to represent our journey through the Delta Quadrant. I call it, "The Odyssey."

The audience applauded again, as Kim turned around and picked up the baton. The orchestra readied their instruments.

It started softly, with the violins trembling in anticipation, then a trumpet came in with three clear notes, and a percussionist began to play the kettledrums.

Eventually, all the French horns came in and a stately, wondrous theme began to emerge. Janeway and Chakotay stood together and listened with rapt attention as Kim's composition transitioned smoothly through several movements. They heard the aching, lonely melody of The Void, and the creeping, metallic clangs that evoked their encounters with the Borg, followed by the clash and fury of a battle theme, until at last it ended with a triumphant version of the first theme that came to an intensely satisfying conclusion.

The applause was long and loud, and Kim took several bows, looking almost embarrassed by the response.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Chakotay shouted to Janeway over the noise. "Maybe Harry should quit his day job."

"Don't say that!" she quickly retorted. "I have no intention of trying to run a ship without him."

Finally, Kim left the stage, and Traysom picked up the baton and started up another song. A fresh group was coming into the ballroom, and the conversational noise was rising as people began to greet the newcomers. Just then, Janeway spotted a familiar face coming toward her, someone she had been very much hoping to see here tonight. Janeway quickly looked around for Seven, but didn't immediately spot her.

"Naomi," Janeway said, stooping down to talk to the little girl. "Go and get Seven for me, quick."

"Aye Captain," Naomi said cheerfully, and disappeared into the crowd.

He approached her as she straightened back up, an older man with a dignified bearing and a bald head that gleamed in the lights of the ballroom: Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise.

"Captain Janeway," Picard said with a gracious smile as he reached out to shake her hand. "You were First Officer on the Aleppo last time we met, I believe. You seem to have done pretty well for yourself since then. Congratulations on getting your crew home."

"Thank you, Captain, but it was a team effort," Janeway said, smiling. "A captain is only as good as her crew."

"Truer words were never spoken," Picard said, giving a smiling glance back at several of the officers who had come in with him. "And I think I speak for all of my crew when I say we are most anxious to read your ship's logs. To spend years in uncharted space, making first contact with dozens of new races, seeing things no human has ever seen before... how I envy you."

"It's been an eventful eight years," Janeway agreed. "It may have been unplanned, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one we're all grateful we could be a part of."

Picard nodded. "With the Dominion War and everything else that's happened in your absence, the rest of us haven't had much opportunity for adventuring." His smile faded a little as he spoke. "You've made us all remember what it was like to be explorers."

Then Picard cleared his throat and leaned forward conspiratorially. "In fact, Captain, Admiral Patterson gave me a sneak peek at a few of your logs that he felt I would have a particular interest in. Is it true that you met a saurian race who claimed to originate right here on Earth?"

"Yes, of course," Janeway said. "The Voth. We encountered them our third year. Their technology was quite advanced; they lived on an enormous city-ship, capable of trans-warp travel."

"Fascinating," Picard said. "I would love to get your perspective on them. This could revolutionize archaeological studies on Earth. We've believed for so long that we had found everything there was to find here, but I am delighted to hear we were wrong!"

"Actually, the person you need to talk to is my First Officer," Janeway said. She looked around, managed to catch Chakotay's eye, and beckoned him over. "He had more dealings with the Voth than I did, and he shares your passion for archaeology. Commander, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Captain, my First Officer, Commander Chakotay."

She braced herself for Picard to say, as Shelby had, "Oh yes, the Maquis captain."

But he didn't. "It's a pleasure to meet you," Picard said in polite tones, shaking Chakotay's hand. "Congratulations on your safe journey home, Commander. I find the story of your combined crews most inspiring. It can't have been easy."

"Fortunately, I had one of Starfleet's finest to work with," Chakotay said, with a nod in Janeway's direction, and both she and Picard smiled appreciatively.

"Captain Picard," Chakotay continued, growing serious, "I've always wanted to thank you personally for your negotiations on Dorvan V. You enabled my family to stay in their home a little longer, and for that we have always been grateful."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid all I did was delay the inevitable," Picard said, his voice filled with regret.

"We were grateful for the time we were given," Chakotay said quietly. "And I understand the colony is being rebuilt as we speak."

Janeway explained Picard's interest in the Voth, and soon he and Chakotay were in the midst of a detailed discussion of everything the Voyager crew had learned about the saurian race. References to archaeological expeditions Janeway was unfamiliar with began to fly fast and furious, and soon she found it difficult to keep up with the conversation.

"Welcome home, Captain Janeway."

She looked over - and up - at the very tall bearded man now offering his hand to her. He was wearing commander pips on the collar of his dress uniform. Next to him, in science blue, stood a beautiful Betazoid woman with long, sleekly curled dark hair.

It had been a long time since Q had brought Will Riker aboard Voyager to participate in Quinn's trial, but recognition dawned in an instant. Still, Janeway reminded herself that Q had promised to erase Riker's memories of the incident, and therefore it would be pointless to mention it to him at this venue.

"Commander Riker," she said, shaking his hand. "And how is life aboard the Enterprise-E?"

"As eventful as life on the Enterprise-D was," he said cheerfully. "I guess someone's told you about our little crash on Veridian III?"

"Actually, that happened a few months before I took command of Voyager," Janeway said.

"Has it really been that long?" Riker said, exchanging surprised looks with the Betazoid woman beside him. "Feels like just yesterday we launched the E. Oh, Captain, this is Commander Deanna Troi, our ship's counselor."

Janeway shook Troi's hand, noting the way Riker let his hand linger on the counselor's back a little longer than necessary as he pulled her into their conversational circle.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Janeway," Troi said, speaking with a hint of an accent Janeway couldn't quite place. "And how did you two meet?" she added, looking between Riker and Janeway.

"Oh, we had a date once, back in the old Academy days," Riker said blithely. Just to Janeway's left, where he'd been listening to another conversation, Tom Paris glanced at them over his shoulder, perked up, and turned to subtly insert himself into their circle.

Janeway felt a blush creeping up into her hairline. "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that," she said.

"Oh, no, you were very memorable," Riker assured her with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "I haven't had a lot of girls ditch me mid-date."

"Oh, really?" Paris said eagerly, shooting a delighted look at Janeway. "Do tell."

"Will, did you misbehave?" Troi asked in a gentle scolding tone.

"Not that I recall," Riker said.

"Oh, no, he was a perfect gentleman," Janeway hastened to say. "It's just that I was frantic about a report I had left undone, and I couldn't enjoy myself with something like that hanging over my head."

"You left a date to do _homework_ , Captain?" Paris exclaimed in disbelief.

"What assignment could possibly be more important than me?" Riker teased.

Janeway casually glanced over her shoulder, trying to gauge if Chakotay and Picard were near enough to be overhearing this conversation. It was hard to tell. When she looked back, Troi was looking at her with an odd expression. Janeway quickly cleared her throat.

"It was a dissertation for Owen Paris," she explained.

"Oh, _him_ ," Riker said, rolling his eyes expressively. "Say no more."

"I took a survival course from him my second year," Troi said. "He frightened the wits out of us all."

"Glad to see I'm not the only one who had my love life ruined by my father," Paris muttered into his champagne glass.

"You're a Paris?" Riker asked.

"Yes sir, Tom Paris, helmsman." Paris offered his hand to Riker and then Troi.

"I served with a Gretta Paris on the Hood," Riker said.

"She's my aunt," Paris nodded, and the two of them started trading anecdotes about her.

Just then, Janeway felt a hand lightly touch the small of her back, and she turned to see Chakotay behind her, with Picard still by his side. Quickly she moved aside to let them into the conversational circle. There was plenty of room, but for some reason Chakotay was crowding her, and he left his hand on her back a little longer than was strictly necessary. She glanced up at him, wondering if he intended to have a quiet word in her ear like he did sometimes at large gatherings, usually to share some darkly humorous observation about one of the attendees. But he didn't say a word, just looked into her eyes for a moment and then let his hand slip off her back and turned his attention to the others.

As for Janeway, she was having trouble focusing on the conversation, nor was she the only one. She caught Deanna Troi looking at her with a strange half-smile on her face, but she quickly looked away from Janeway to pay rapt attention to Riker and Paris. They were discussing some piloting maneuver in deep technical detail. Piloting was far from Janeway's favorite topic - she was a decent pilot, but had never managed to tap into any kind of personal passion for it - and since she had nothing to add to the discussion, she let her eyes roam around the room.

Some of the officers she saw talking to hers were unfamiliar, but several others she knew to be from the Enterprise crew. There was their chief engineer, Geordi La Forge, deep in discussion with Torres and Kim.

"The trouble with the slipstream drive was that we never ironed out the problem with a phase variance..." Kim was explaining as LaForge watched Torres create a diagram on a PADD.

In another group, the Doctor was gesticulating wildly as he spoke to a red-haired woman in a science uniform Janeway didn't know and the android Lieutenant Commander Data, instantly recognizable by his yellowish skin and eyes.

"And for the first year or so, they kept turning me off mid-sentence or, even worse, forgetting to turn me off at all!" the Doctor was saying loudly.

Janeway couldn't quite hear Data's reply, but his tone sounded sympathetic.

"I knew you would understand better than anyone," the Doctor blustered on. "In fact, I've created a holodeck program to enumerate the many wrongs inflicted on my fellow holograms by their flesh-and-blood counterparts. I would be thrilled if you would take a look..."

Next to them, Tuvok was listening with infinite patience to a tall, nervous man in engineering gold who was having great difficulty getting a sentence out without stammering.

"I, I, I found Voyager's story simply, uh, uh, fascinating the moment I heard it," the man was saying. "In... In fact, I got a new... a new cat this week, you see, and I, I named him Neelix, if you can imagine that! Could... could you introduce me to him, Commander? Mr. Neelix, I mean. I would be very... uh, very grateful if you could." He chuckled nervously, and Tuvok's eyebrow went up.

"Fascinating," he said.

As for Neelix himself, he was chatting with a woman with dark skin and a loose-fitting navy blue robe. Her black braids were topped by a strange floppy hat, as wide as a serving platter at the top.

"It took me _years_ to figure out what human tastes in food were..." Neelix was saying as the woman nodded in sympathy.

Janeway's attention was suddenly captured by a bright white flash of light appearing right next to her. Instinctively she took a step back, nearly spilling her drink. Riker and Picard both looked over, stopping mid-sentence, to see what was happening.

The flash was gone, but in its place stood a young man with short curly brown hair, smiling widely at Janeway and holding a single white rose.

"Q!" she gasped, putting her hand on her heart in a startled gesture.

"Congratulations, Aunt Kathy," he said as he presented her with the rose. He was wearing the captain's variant of the dress uniform. Of course. "You made it home! I always knew you would, of course, but I suppose _you_ didn't." He looked insufferably pleased with himself.

"Q?" Picard barked, pushing his champagne glass into Chakotay's hand and moving quickly to Janeway's side. Then he took a good look at Q's face, and drew back slightly in surprise.

"Oh, no, Captain," Janeway hastened to put a hand on Picard's chest to stop him before he could do anything rash. "This isn't your Q. This is..." She cleared her throat. "This is Q, his son."

"His son?" Picard repeated, staring at Q in disbelief.

"Heaven help us all, he procreated?" Riker muttered.

Maybe it was Janeway's imagination, but she could swear that the woman in the strange hat who had just been speaking with Neelix had actually _hissed_ in Q's direction.

"Dad wanted to come himself," Q told Janeway, ignoring the others, "but... you know how Mom gets. The moment he mentioned your name in conjunction with the word "party" she threw a fit and tried to toss him into a supernova. He sent a message, though. He said to tell you, 'Aren't you glad I didn't snap you home?'"

Janeway couldn't help but smile. "I suppose I am glad."

"Q's _son_?" Picard repeated.

"Is there an echo in here?" Q asked, shooting a contemptuous look at Picard. "Who is this, Aunt Kathy? He looks dull. He's ruining your party. Would you like me to get rid of him for you?"

Janeway pressed her lips together. "Not at all. Q, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Captain, this is Q."

Q's eyes grew wide. "Captain Picard? _The_ Captain Picard?" A broad grin spread across his face. He chuckled. Just a little at first, and then the laugh grew longer and louder.

"Q!" Janeway said warningly. "Remember your manners!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Kathy," Q said, attempting to recover himself. "It's just that I've..." he snickered - "I've heard so much... about him." He went off into another peal of laughter.

Janeway rolled her eyes, but before she could come up with a scolding that actually had a prayer of making Q behave, Icheb came rushing up.

"Q-ball!" he shouted.

Q's face lit up. "Itchy!" he yelled. "Long time no see! What's kicking on this side of the galaxy?"

"Q, you would not believe-" Icheb said, gesturing inarticulately behind him. "There are two Orion girls over there... You've got to help me out. Is there some kind of Q trick you know that could, uh, you know..." His voice trailed off as he noticed Janeway standing there.

"Aha!" Q said, his face lighting up. "Orion women? I know just the thing!"

"Q!" Janeway said quickly. "Don't do anything that would get us both in trouble with your father-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. See you later, Aunt Kathy," he said, snapping his fingers so that the rose in her hand disappeared and then reappeared tucked into her hair.

"Icheb!" Janeway called out as the two boys moved away. "Keep an eye on him!"

"Aye Captain!" Icheb said as Q dragged him out of sight.

Picard wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "His son," he muttered.

"Terrific," Riker said. "Just what the galaxy needed." He cocked an eyebrow in Janeway's direction. "So you met Q in the Delta Quadrant, then? What did he want with you?"

Paris choked into his drink. Janeway stood there, uncertain of what to say. Luckily, Chakotay rescued her.

"So," he said, looking between Picard and Riker. "How's the weather on Earth been for the last eight years?"

"That bad, huh?" Riker said.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

Janeway turned to see Seven of Nine was standing at her elbow, with Naomi at her side.

"Yes," Janeway said, feeling considerably relieved at the interruption. "I wanted you to meet Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Enterprise. Captain, this is Annika Hansen."

Picard started slightly as he turned his eyes onto Seven and took in her cranial implant, but he recovered quickly.

"Oh yes, Admiral Patterson mentioned you," he said politely, holding out his hand to shake hers. "Rescued from the Borg Collective, I believe?"

"Yes," Seven said, and if she thought anything of Janeway introducing her by her human name, she chose to say nothing about it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain. There are... many questions I would like to ask you."

She sounded a little stiff, but thank heavens, she hadn't called Picard "Locutus." Maybe her beauty helped, too; despite the implants, she looked so much softer than her usual self in a dress, with her hair fixed up, that Picard didn't seem put off by her manner at all, and he looked at her kindly.

"Yes, of course, Miss Hansen," he said, gesturing to the tables beyond the crowd. "I have a few I'd like to ask you as well. Shall we?"

He escorted her away, with Seven holding his arm in the proper way. Clearly the Doctor's social lessons had paid off. Janeway made eye contact with Chakotay as they both breathed a silent sigh of relief.

More and more people arrived at the reception as the evening wore on. Soon the ballroom was filled with laughing, chatting officers and the orchestra could scarcely be heard over the continual rumble.

Two hours in, and Janeway's face began to hurt from smiling, and her throat was sore from talking, and her head ached after performing so many verbal tangos to steer as many conversations as possible toward commending her crew, particularly those from the Val Jean and the Equinox.

Politely but firmly, she excused herself from the crowd of people surrounding her and sought refuge at the other end of the ballroom, where French doors opened out onto multiple balconies. Most of the balconies were full of people also seeking to escape the noise and heat of the crowded ballroom, but she spotted one that was occupied by only one other officer and she headed toward it, hoping that she'd get away with a few minutes of peace and quiet out there before she was spotted again.

Outside, it was dark and cool, almost too cool, enough to make her wish she had a wrap to go over her evening gown. As she walked toward the railing, a salt-tangy breeze ruffled her hair. She took a deep breath of fresh air and sat on a bench where she could see the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.

The other person on the balcony turned to glance at her, and Janeway realized it was the Doctor.

"Have you stabilized his cortical implant?" the Doctor asked.

Janeway gave him a puzzled look, but the Doctor silently pointed to his combadge, and she realized he was talking to someone else.

 _"Yes, but there are still irregularities in his theta brain waves that I can't explain."_

"Check his colliculi," the Doctor said. "Could there be a microscopic implant pressing on the trochlear nerve?"

There was a short pause. _"Yes. I can see it."_ The woman on the other end of the line sounded surprised. _"How did you know to look there? Theta waves aren't typically associated with the colliculus."_

"Borg implants connect all kinds of parts of the brain that were never meant to be connected," the Doctor said wryly. "Luckily for Two of Five, I had a similar issue with Seven of Nine and we were able to save her. You'll need to remove that implant as quickly as possible or the patient will go into neural shock. I suggest you dismantle it using the modified nanoprobes I developed, rather than an exoscalpel, or you'll risk severing the nerve."

They could hear the doctor speaking to an assistant in the background. _"Prepare to program a fresh batch of nanoprobes. Around 2,000 to start with, and we'll see how it goes from there."_ Abruptly, the sound cut.

"Dr. Greshem?" the Doctor asked.

Silence.

The Doctor looked irritated. "You're welcome," he said sarcastically to the empty air. "Happy to help. Why yes, thank you, it _was_ a brilliant idea. I'll be sure to come check on the patient in a few hours to make sure you did it right. No rest for the weary hologram, not even on the night of his big debut to the world."

"Was that someone in Shanghai?" Janeway asked.

"They're trying to keep up with the Delta 100's implant failures at the medcenter there," the Doctor confirmed. Janeway had to suppress a smile at how quickly the Doctor had adopted Jake Sisko's nickname for the drones who had traveled here from the Delta Quadrant.

"Not a single one of the doctors there has ever worked on a drone before," the Doctor continued. "I told them they were welcome to call me for advice, but I must admit I was expecting them to treat me like a colleague and not a walking encyclopedia." His tone was aggrieved.

"Give them a little time," Janeway said gently. "Once they get to know you, you'll earn their respect. Just as you've earned mine."

The Doctor looked slightly mollified. "It has been a while since you cut me off mid-sentence," he admitted. "Although it's been only two months, three weeks and five days since you last threatened to alter my personality subroutines," he added with a hint of bitterness.

Janeway laughed lightly. "Yes, and it's been one month since the last time I threatened to throw Chakotay in the Brig, and two weeks since I threatened to delete Tom's Captain Proton program, and six hours since I threatened to demote Tuvok if I didn't see him dancing at least once tonight. Congratulations, Doctor. You've now become just as worthy of a good ribbing as everyone else on the crew."

"Speak of the devil," the Doctor said, jerking his head back toward the French doors.

Half-expecting to see Tuvok actually dancing, Janeway turned to see her tactical officer, not dancing, but heading toward her, and he was accompanied by a silver-haired man in an admiral's uniform. The admiral looked familiar somehow, but Janeway couldn't immediately place him.

She rose as Tuvok and the admiral joined them on the balcony.

"Admiral, this is Captain Janeway," Tuvok said, "and our ship's EMH, who we call the Doctor."

"Zimmerman," the Doctor said quickly.

Janeway and Tuvok looked at him in surprise.

"Dr. Zimmerman," the Doctor said. "My name is Dr. Zimmerman." He spoke firmly, though with a sidelong glance at Tuvok and Janeway, almost as though he were expecting them to object in some way.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Dr. Zimmerman. Captain, Doctor, this is Rear Admiral Gary Bennett, Starfleet's Judge Advocate General."

They shook hands all around. Janeway had to still a slight tremor in her hands before her turn came. Of all the people she felt they needed to impress tonight, Bennett was the one she had worried about the most. She had never met him, and did not feel she knew enough about him to assess the best way to work on him. Well, now was her chance to find out.

They stood there for several minutes making small talk about Voyager's homecoming and the celebratory events planned in their honor. Bennett seemed friendly enough, and complimented them all on their triumphant return and inquired about their families. To Janeway's relief, Tuvok was as unflappable as ever and started a conversation by bringing up the topic of the Mari, a race of telepaths in the Delta Quadrant who had outlawed violent thoughts in an attempt to eliminate crime.

The judge's interest was piqued, and they spend several minutes discussing how the Mari's policy had actually led to the creation of an underground market in violent thoughts.

"Tell me, what did the Mari do to those who committed one of these... thought crimes?" Bennett asked curiously.

"Their memories were forcibly purged," Tuvok said. "In fact, the Mari attempted to do so to one of our crewmembers."

Bennett raised his eyebrows. "Even if our technology were capable of safely carrying out such a sentence, I could not condone that approach," he said mildly. "Such a practice would put an end to all the concepts about justice we have developed over the centuries. Without an opportunity to atone for our offenses, how can there be contrition? Mercy? A chance to change our ways and become better than we are?"

Janeway could feel the knot in her stomach loosening ever so slightly.

Back in the ballroom, the orchestra struck up a new song. Admiral Bennett turned to Janeway. "Well, captain, before everyone here spots the guest of honor and a line starts forming next to you, would you do this old man the honor of having a dance?"

She dreaded going back into the stuffy ballroom, but she smiled anyway. "That would be lovely."

As she left the balcony, she glanced back at Tuvok.

"Have you had a dance yet, Tuvok?" she asked.

"I have not," Tuvok said stiffly.

"Don't make me make it an order, Commander."

Admiral Bennett led Janeway out to the dance floor and they began to move to the music. They passed Neelix, who was getting crushed in the embrace of a Klingon woman wearing an ambassador's sash and didn't look at though he minded at all.

"Admiral," Janeway said, "while I have you, I wonder if I could solicit your opinion regarding a legal matter."

Bennett immediately frowned. "I'm sorry, captain, but I don't think it would be appropriate for us to discuss your impending courts-martial at this venue."

"Actually, I was more worried about my crew," she said calmly, although a jolt went through her at his use of the plural. She wasn't exactly surprised, but it wasn't pleasant to have it confirmed, either. As difficult as it was to traverse ethical thickets in the heat of a situation, attempting to sort things out in front of a board of inquiry after the fact was no picnic, either.

"I don't think we can discuss the Equinox cases, either," Bennett said. "You're likely to be called as a witness."

"I understand that," she said quickly. "I was hoping to get your legal insights regarding those of my crewmembers who served on the Val Jean. Unofficially, of course."

Bennett looked slightly surprised, and then slowly nodded. "From what I've heard, everyone on that ship who previously served in Starfleet did resign their commissions before beginning their Maquis activities, which means their cases won't pass through my office. They'll be tried in Federation civilian courts by a jury of their peers and then sentenced by a panel of three judges."

"I've started looking through the cases of other Maquis who were tried civilly during the years we were in the Delta Quadrant," Janeway said. "Many were given only a year or two in minimum-security penal colonies. But a woman named Sveta Korepanova is now serving fifteen years in a secure location for the same crimes, and a few others were given harsher punishments as well. I was hoping you could explain the legal reasoning behind such disparities in sentencing."

Bennett sighed. "Just between you and I?"

"Of course."

Bennett spoke slowly, carefully. "When the Dominion War began, Captain, I think it's safe to say that public opinion regarding the Maquis turned a corner. We experienced massive losses in Starfleet, and eventually among civilian centers as well. You may have heard by now that we lost control of Betazed for a time. Suddenly, even citizens living far from the Demilitarized Zone were being impacted personally by the war. There was hardly a person left in the Federation who didn't know someone who had been killed, injured or left homeless by the conflict.

"The upshot of it all is that people starting looking at the Maquis a little differently," he continued. "With so much of their anger directed against the Dominion, they lost their appetite for punishing their fellow citizens for the crime of trying to protect their own homes. You'll see a noticeable dropoff in sentence length for the Maquis beginning around that time. Unfortunately, by that time there weren't many Maquis left alive to try."

Janeway nodded. "I understand, but Korepanova-"

"I'm familiar with her case," Bennett said. "She recruited Chakotay to the Maquis, didn't she?"

"She did."

"And she recruited others," Bennett said. "Quite a few others. Primarily Starfleet officers, I might add. People who were conflicted about whether open rebellion was the right thing to do. And Korepanova gave them the nudge they needed, and took some outstanding officers away from Starfleet just when we needed them most."

"So the judges threw the book at her," Janeway said grimly.

"I think it's safe to say that the judges viewed recruiting activities as less like self-defense and more like treason," Bennett said. "They wanted to make an example of her."

Janeway didn't say anything to that, but there was nothing Bennett could have said that could have worried her more. Chakotay had recruited a significant portion of his crew from Starfleet, too. It had worked to Janeway's advantage in the Delta Quadrant, since there were only a handful of the Maquis crew who had needed additional training to learn how to operate on a Starfleet ship. But now...

If the judges were already prejudiced against Maquis recruiters, would any amount of public relations efforts on Janeway's part be able to change their minds?

And what else could she do for Chakotay?

* * *

It was getting late. Paris took Torres and little Miral away, and not long afterward Tuvok and Kim paid their final respects to Janeway before they left to be with their families. Neelix and the Doctor had disappeared, she didn't see where. Seven was still ensconced at a table talking to Picard, Data and LaForge, along with the woman in the strange hat Janeway didn't know.

She introduced Icheb to Admiral Hayes and they spoke for a time about how to go about moving his regeneration alcove into the student housing at Starfleet Academy, but long after Icheb had left, Hayes continued to chatter away inconsequentially at her, and no subtle hints that she dropped about how late it was getting seemed to have any effect on him. Of all the things that must have happened in the last eight years, the one thing he chose to talk to her about was the infestation of aphids in his maple trees. Janeway had to stifle a yawn.

Suddenly, in the distance through the thinning crowd she saw her salvation. Chakotay was talking to a bent old man dressed in a rumpled brown suit. Suppressing her eagerness, she kept nodding and um-humming at Hayes, all the while glancing continually over at Chakotay until finally she managed to catch his eye. Tugging on her right earlobe significantly, she smiled sweetly at Hayes. "It sounds like you had quite the time with those aphids," she said. In the distance, she could see Chakotay excusing himself from the old man and coming over to rescue her from the windbag. Thank heavens, he had remembered the old signal they had worked out to save each other from the Doctor or Chell when one of them was going off on one of their tears.

Now Chakotay was at her side. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Admiral Hayes," he said politely, "but Captain Janeway did promise to dance with me at least once before the night was out."

As a matter of fact they had never actually discussed a dance, but Janeway wasn't about to say that.

"Yes, of course, by all means," Hayes said, and gratefully Janeway took Chakotay's hand as he led her out to the dance floor.

"Thank you," she said with feeling as Chakotay took her in his arms and they began to move together. The full orchestra from earlier in the night had now been replaced by a string quartet. "I thought he would never stop talking. Who was that you were speaking with?"

"Boothby," he said.

"That was Boothby?" she exclaimed. "In that case, I'm sorry I interrupted."

"Not at all," Chakotay said. "I got a good long talk with him, and he was starting to look tired, anyway. He seems a lot older and weaker than the last time I saw him."

"I hope not," Janeway said. "I can't imagine the Academy without him."

They danced in silence for minute or so. They had not danced together since Tom and B'Elanna's wedding, and Janeway had forgotten how assertively Chakotay danced. There was no question about who was leading. After the long day she'd had, it was nice to simply turn over control and let him move her around the dance floor using the firm pressure of his hand on her hand and against her back. She gazed up at his face and thought that he looked a little worn down. How difficult it must have been for him to spend the evening smiling and making small talk, when he must have wanted nothing more than to go home and mourn for his friends in peace. And he had not uttered a word of complaint or given a sign of impatience. Her eyes softened, and she gave him the tiniest ghost of a smile. He gave her the barest hint of a smile back.

The song ended, but Chakotay made no move to let her go as a smattering of applause broke out. Another song started, a slower one. This time Chakotay closed the distance between them slightly, and they began to make slow circles together across the floor.

She had always found the rhythm of the waltz soothing, and now Janeway could feel sleepiness beginning to settle over her like a wave. She resisted the temptation to lay her head on Chakotay's shoulder. She thought he probably wouldn't mind, but Hayes wasn't the only admiral who had lingered late into the night, and there were still holo-photographers wandering around the ballroom snapping candid shots. Something like that would probably look strange on the newsfeeds in the morning.

"Are you going home to Indiana tonight?" he murmured in her ear.

"No. I knew I'd be here late and I didn't want to disturb my mother; she's a light sleeper. I've been assigned rooms here at Headquarters, so I'll stay here tonight and then go home in the morning. What about you?"

"I was assigned an apartment here too, but I'm heading to Huatabampo tonight, to stay with my sister for now," Chakotay said. "I used to have my own place in Arizona, but it seems someone else moved in during my absence."

"Mmmm. Too bad. I lost my old place, too, along with all my furniture. I think my mom expected me to be upset that she gave it all away, but honestly, I can barely even remember the things I had." She stifled a yawn. "It's all right. I don't really need my own place right now. I'll probably spend every free moment with family anyway."

"And you have to promise me," Chakotay said. "No work at all. Not like tonight. You have eight years' worth of vacation coming to you and I expect you to use it."

"Debriefings start in two weeks," she reminded him.

"So you don't need to work for two weeks," he said. "Do you think you could get away with turning off your combadge? I don't trust you to say no when everyone on Earth starts calling you tomorrow, wanting a piece of your glory."

"I won't need to turn off my combadge," she said sleepily. "I've been assigned an assistant who is going to monitor my calls and only put through urgent ones. The Doctor is way ahead of you, Commander. We hadn't touched down before he managed to get a counselor assigned to me. I haven't even met her yet, but apparently she took one look at my medical file and had a conniption. I'm under strict orders to rest until the debriefings start, and after that I'm not to work one minute over eight hours a day."

"That sounds promising," Chakotay said, moving his hand more securely across her back. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"I'll be good," Janeway assured him. "I admit it, I am... tired. Burned out. If someone gave me orders to go back into space tomorrow, I'd tell them to go jump in a lake."

"Lake George?" Chakotay asked.

She chuckled briefly. "Why not? It's a good place to take a long walk off a short pier. You know, you and I should go there sometime. To the real one, in New York. We'll go for a nice sail again."

"I'm going to hold you to that," he said.

The song ended. Chakotay briefly took both her hands in his.

"Good night, Kathryn," he said. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"You're leaving now?"

Chakotay nodded. "I'll call you in two weeks."

"All right." Despite her sleepiness, Janeway felt a sudden twinge of... something. She and Chakotay had a long-delayed talk coming. A talk about whether they both still wanted to pursue a relationship, after years of putting things on hold. Was he going to expect an answer on _that_ in two weeks? Was she ready to give him one?

Or was he planning to tell her that he had changed his mind? And he didn't want to tell her now because he didn't want to spoil their homecoming?

He was looking at her now a little too knowingly. "You're thinking of work," he said.

"I wasn't," she objected.

"You were. You looked stressed."

"I don't have anything left to be stressed about. We're home. Everything's perfect."

Chakotay was silent for a moment. "I hope so," he said at last. "Well. Have a good vacation."

"You too. Good night, Chakotay."

She watched him stroll out of the ballroom alone. She took a deep breath. Two weeks to sort everything out with Mark and get some closure. That was plenty of time. She would be ready.

Near the doorway, a Bolian woman in a science uniform was waving excitedly at Janeway, beckoning her over. She recognized the woman as a science officer she had served with on the Al-Batani many years ago. Janeway picked up her skirts and went over to get reacquainted with her friend.

Two weeks. She would be ready. Of course she would.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

 **IN**

 **"HOMECOMING: THE VOYAGER COALITION, VOLUME II"**

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 **Author's note:** I chose to split my Homecoming novel into two parts, partly so potential new readers don't get intimidated by the increasingly large word count, but mostly because of the tone shift: up until now, my story has been an action/adventure story set mostly in space, but from here on out it will be set largely on Earth and will be more focused on relationships and the fate of the Maquis. I hope you stay tuned for Volume II, which I began posting today, and thank you to everyone who has followed along and left reviews: I am so grateful for your support and your helpful critiques!

Please, feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments, either for Volume I as a whole, or for this chapter in particular. I had a lot of fun imagining how the homecoming reception would go, and trying my hand at characters like Q and the Enterprise crew. I hope you enjoyed it too.

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 **Song recs:** For anyone who is curious, I imagined Harry's song as an amalgam of the "Star Trek: Voyager" theme song by Jerry Goldsmith, "Echoes of the Void" from the episode "Night," the Borg theme from "First Contact," and "The American Symphony" by Michael Kamen from "Mr. Holland's Opus."


End file.
